Book 4: Kidnap
by Veronice
Summary: Harry Potter was becoming far too influential for the liking of certain people. It was not necessary for him to die, but after his kidnap and what happened afterwards, he would never be regarded as quite respectable again.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Notes:__ My stories diverge from Canon from the end of 5th year. __History__: Harry killed Voldemort at the age of 17, at which time he appeared to sustain some slight brain damage. It manifests in problems with his balance, usually observable only when he is particularly tired or ill. _

_Warning__: In this story, there are mentions of male/male sex including rape. There is also an important character death. _

_Summary:_ _Harry Potter was becoming far too influential for the liking of certain people. It was not necessary for him to die, but after his kidnap and what happened afterwards, he would never be regarded as quite respectable again._

_Chapter 1:_

"Abercrombie, Sean," and the Sorting Hat thought for a few minutes before loudly pronouncing, "Gryffindor," and a small, sandy-haired boy went to the Gryffindor table.

"Bourne, Antonio." This was a cousin to Harry Potter's stepson, Adam Bourne, and this Bourne, too, was sent to the Ravenclaw table where Adam sat. Adam was quiet, responsible, and intelligent. He was one of the new fifth year prefects. Harry, after nearly twenty years teaching, plus seven more as a student, was beginning to know a great many of the families of the close-knit world of wizarding, and found the same surnames cropping up again and again. But there were always several muggle-borns to introduce some new blood.

"Crabbe, Jeremy," and a large boy was sorted into Slytherin, followed by, "Darke, Sandra," also into Slytherin.

"Davenport, Nathan," was sorted into Gryffindor, and Harry wondered if he was relative to a boy who had rashly tried to duel with him a few years before.

There was the first muggle-born, "Dursley, Gemme," also sorted into Gryffindor. Gemme was his cousin Dudley's daughter, a lively lass, just the same age as his own identical twins, Margaret and Victoria. Gemme had visited Harry's place several times, each of the visits memorable for the startlingly imaginative mischief the three little redheads would get into.

The Sorting Hat continued its progression through the alphabet, and the line of first years diminished, as each in turn hurried with an air of relief to their allotted house tables.

"Longbottom, Catherine," had a look of her father, Neville, and Harry knew her too. Unlike her forgetful and clumsy father, Catherine was lively and bright, and Harry suspected that she had a considerable degree of magical talent.

"Potter, Margaret," and there was a buzz of comment from the students.

Many of the teachers were particularly attentive, also. Harry Potter was known as a very powerful wizard, and known now too for his learning, as well as for his fighting ability. It was not long ago that his illegitimate daughter, Julia, had created quite an impression at Hogwarts before being killed two years before.

But Margaret Potter looked nothing like Julia. Only Harry remembered how, instead of the usual frightened look, Julia had worn an air of icy composure as she had sat on the stool and been Sorted into Slytherin. Now his Margaret was looking coolly expressionless also, as the Sorting Hat announced without hesitation, "Gryffindor."

"Potter, Victoria," immediately following, wore exactly the same look, and was also dubbed a Gryffindor.

Harry Potter sat at the teachers' table, wearing his own imperturbable expression, that was supposed to conceal his bursting pride.

Then there was "Shunpike, Percival," sorted into Hufflepuff, and another muggle-born, "Sullivan, Tony," also into Hufflepuff. Harry always had a special interest in the muggle-borns, knowing how difficult it could be to feel comfortable in a new world. There were fewer this year, only three including Gemme. There had not been as many as usual the previous year either. Another muggle-born, "Vaughan, William," was Sorted into Hufflepuff. That was the last, and the tables were suddenly laden with good things to eat as the Start of Year Feast commenced.

Harry was at the teachers table with the other professors. Professor Flitwick commented, "There were hardly any muggle-borns this year; only three when there's usually a dozen or so."

Harry said, "There were only three last year, too."

Severus Snape drawled in his oily voice, "You do know why that is, don't you, Harry?"

"Just the normal ups and downs of life, I assumed."

But Snape said, "No, the credit goes to you."

"Me!" said Harry, "What have I got to do with it?"

Snape explained, "Well, a lot of the supposed muggle-borns have always been sired by wizards, either by rape or seduction, often followed by memory modification."

Harry turned and stared at his friend, "I didn't know that," he said quietly, but feeling rather uncomfortable. Julia had been accidentally fathered by him. Julia's mother was a muggle, who had married a muggle.

"No," said Severus Snape, who had not intended to refer to Julia's parentage. "The pastime of raping muggles, wiping memories, and leaving cuckoos in the nest has almost stopped. Don't you remember castrating Dean Billings? It's widely known in certain circles. They're frightened you might do it again!"

Harry stared, and then laughed, shaking his head. "Well, if you're right, then I guess I did OK!"

Harry Potter had another son at home. James, now four, had been born when Harry was very ill. James was looking a lot like his father, with the same black hair and green eyes. But he was bigger than Harry had been at the same age, and did not need glasses.

Harry had another daughter too, but he didn't know about this one. She was the daughter of Susan McIntosh, whom he had met on the ship that brought him back to England. Toni had been raised in America, and her name was Toni Bellamy McIntosh. She had just married, and would soon be starting her own family of witches and wizards.

After the feast, Harry always liked to have a quick word with his small flock of muggle-borns before they left, and he quickly congratulated Tony and Bill on their placement before the Hufflepuff prefect, Amanda Hopkirk, whisked them away.

Muggle-borns often had a sense of inferiority when they first came to Hogwarts, and Harry knew that the simple fact that they knew Harry Potter would give them an extra touch of needed prestige, as they took their place among their contemporaries. There was only time to nod to his redheaded twins and their lively cousin Gemme, before they, too, were hustled away. He didn't linger long, but went to his office and silently disapparated, reappearing in his home.

"Gryffindor," he answered his wife's unspoken question. "Gemme and Catherine Longbottom, too." He embraced her, and said, "They're growing up. Maybe we should have a few more." Harry loved babies. Ginny thought that four children were enough. She was going to resume part time work at the Ministry once James was at school, and fulltime work once he was a little older. When Harry had married Ginny, she had been an auror, one of the elite of Wizardkind. But she wasn't planning on going back to that profession. Her husband tended to regard aurors as potential enemies after past conflicts with the Ministry, and she thought it more prudent to work in a different department.

But Harry Potter regarded himself as the height of respectability now - he was a member of the Wizemgamot, the Wizard High Court, and quite frequently served on various Ministry Committees, too. He was highly respected for his healing work, breaking 'unbreakable' spells that no-one else could break, and he hadn't been seen to fight for years. Just two years before, he had killed the killer of Julia, the beautiful girl who was his illegitimate daughter. But that didn't count, he felt. Not only did the killer thoroughly deserve his fate, but no-one knew he had done it, not even Ginny. All that was known was that John Dawlish had abruptly dropped dead in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, not a minute after Julia had been killed in Diagon Alley, her body still held cradled in her father's arms.

Harry Potter was forty-one years old now. His face was a little thin, but his body appeared as strong and fit as it had ever been. He was an attractive man again, not 'cute' certainly - romantic, perhaps. Harry and Ginny were very happy together, their obvious joy in each other a tonic for more jaded couples. The sadness of Julia's death had affected Harry for a time - it was like an unfinished story. But it may not have been a good story, he knew. Julia had sacrificed herself for her father, taking the Death Curse that had been meant for him. But she had also been the cause of his near death and long illness, and he'd found some stolen books of poisons in her possessions. In any case, Harry had never been one to make himself miserable over what could not be helped. He preferred to enjoy life, and it was so good not to feel tired all the time, to be able to take his shirt off and not feel ashamed of a pitifully thin body.

With just one child left at home, Ginny, Harry and young James had a lot more freedom to travel, and their weekends were often spent in foreign lands. Ginny could not apparate thousands of miles, as Harry could, but if she did it in steps, she could still manage a long way. There was always muggle transport, of course, although that took a lot longer. But Harry helped Ginny organise herself a muggle passport, putting the same sort of charm on it that his own had - 'Quite in order,' a muggle would always say, in whatever language he used, whether it was or not.

He worked almost fulltime at Hogwarts now, with the exception of Wednesday afternoons, when he visited Hermione's office in Diagon Alley, and worked those cures that no-one else could work. He was keeping up with demand these days, but all the same, he had never chosen to be a mediwizard, and did not believe that he had any obligation to these people. If he wanted to go away, they just had to wait for him. It was not his fault that he was the only person who could undo certain spells.

It was a Wednesday afternoon in October that he understood one reason why he was hardly ever attacked any more by Voldemort's old supporters - he was outliving them! He had eighteen patients waiting his attention that Wednesday, including thirteen from overseas. The Ministry of Magic gained a lot of prestige from having available the only wizard in the world who could do this work, and was paid well for it by the overseas Ministries. Harry always had a Ministry Observer with him, who was supposed to double as a bodyguard. It was always an auror, at the moment a large young man called Jebedee Shacklebolt, son of Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom Harry had known for many years.

Hermione was giving Harry his usual brief rundown on his next patient, the fifth of the day. The affected wizard was in his nineties and had been afflicted with boils for the past twenty years. Harry was surprised. This was unusual. The boils curse was usually a very easy one to undo, not one that ever needed his special abilities.

When the man was led in by a younger man, possibly his son, he looked closely at his face. He still wasn't sure, and instead of immediately raising his wand, he concentrated, _feeling_ the spell as he did when the usual casual wave of the wand didn't work. And then he asked quietly, "Where have I met you before, Mr. Garot?"

The man stared at him, then turned and started to leave as fast as he could. Harry raised his wand, the man turned awkwardly back to him, and Harry asked again, still quietly, "Where have I met you before, Mr. Garot?"

The younger man who was with him, grabbed the old man's arm as he swayed, looking at Harry, puzzled. "What's the matter? I thought you were going to fix him!"

"I just want an answer to my question," said Harry, still looking at the old man, and when he asked for the third time, there was a command laced with magic in his voice, and the quavering voice of an old man answered, "It was in Italy. I tried to kill you."

The younger man turned to confront the older, staring at him. Jebedee Shacklebolt had leapt to attention also. Harry asked, "And how many of Voldemort's supporters do you know who are trying to kill me now?"

"None. We are old men now, and many have died."

The old man had the marks of pain on his face, and used a walking stick. Harry casually waved his wand, and said to Hermione, "OK, he's done," but with his usual caution, he didn't turn his back as Jebedee went to the old man.

"Do you want him arrested or anything, Harry?"

"No, no, he's a bit old for that now, let him go."

Jebedee hesitated, and then he quietly made his alarm go, so that two more aurors apparated close by. Jebedee steered the old man and his son out of the office, and handed them over to Mark and Trevor, two more Ministry aurors. Then they were taken off for questioning.

Harry was already proceeding with the next patient as Jebedee hurried back in. The rest of the day's work was without incident, and only took another fifteen minutes or so. Harry was very fast, any delay usually caused by a patient being reluctant to leave as quickly as he would like. But the aurors who customarily worked with him had become very efficient at cutting short their thanks, and suggesting they send a letter if they had more to say.

At the Ministry, Alec McVeigh, head of the Auror Department, listened to what Jebedee had to say about what he had heard. He was drumming his fingers, unable to decide what to do. Potter had said that he didn't want the man arrested, but this went against the grain for McVeigh. Garot had committed a crime, and even if it was twenty years ago, McVeigh felt that he should be held accountable. Another complication was that he himself had been named by Harry Potter as someone whom he would not tolerate near him, due to certain incidents in the past. To try Garot, he would need Potter's testimony. He eventually went to Madam Bones, the Minister for Magic, with his problem.

Amelia Bones wanted more information, and McVeigh sent Jebedee to see if Harry was still with Hermione, and if so, to request him to come to the Ministry.

Harry _was_ still with Hermione - they had already briefly discussed Garot, whom Harry assumed was long gone by that time, and now Hermione was nagging Harry to have a medical examination. Harry, as usual, was refusing. He told her that he was in perfect health these days, and there was not the slightest need to be looked at.

Hermione was quietly resolving to go over his head to Ginny. She knew that Harry always did as Ginny told him, and she thought that Harry should have a checkup whether he thought he was well or not, and annual checkups thereafter.

Jebedee knocked and entered. Harry was annoyed to hear that Garot had been taken to the Ministry building, and frowned at Jebedee. "It's a shame I said anything," he said, "I would have thought you could have let the old man go."

Shacklebolt only said, "It was not up to me, or to you. It's up to the Ministry whether the man is held accountable. And Madam Bones is requesting you to please come to her office, and they will investigate further."

Back at the Ministry, Madam Bones was anxious that Harry not become angry at having his express wishes disregarded. She arranged for an excellent afternoon tea, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, rather than Alec McVeigh, was to do the questioning, with the excuse that part of his job was liaising with foreign Ministries. McVeigh was not even to be present.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was nearly sixty, but didn't show his age except for his hair, which was shot with silver. He had long since abandoned the affectations of shaven head and gold ear-ring, and now looked a large and very impressive man.

When Harry arrived at the Ministry, with Jebedee close behind him, they found Mark waiting to greet him with utmost courtesy. Harry was looking cool, but beginning to be rather amused at the extreme politeness with which he was ushered into a conference room, to find Amelia Bones offering him coffee, and Kingsley passing him a tray with an assortment of fancy cakes.

To see what they'd do, he declined the refreshments, and kept his face imperturbable, leaning against the wall.

Amelia and Kingsley looked at each other, Amelia with discernible anxiety. "Please, sit down," she pressed. "We just want to talk a little."

Harry said softly, "Albus Dumbledore always provides me with fresh scones when he wants me to do something unpleasant!"

Amelia looked at him, to see his gleam of amusement. She finally laughed, and said, "We'll order you scones if you want, but these rolls are very nice."

So Harry sat down, and helped himself to coffee, as Amelia passed him a roll. Even now, they were reluctant to come to the point, and Harry finally did it for them. "You arrested Garot," he said. "He's an old man, it looked to me like he's dying anyway. Why bother?"

Madam Bones said, "Some of us here feel that people should be held accountable for their actions, old or not. And Jebedee reported that he admitted trying to kill you in Italy."

Harry shrugged. "It was happening all the time in those days, I'm not even sure that I remember this one."

"Was he punished?" asked Kingsley.

"None of them were ever turned over to their Ministries if that's what you mean," said Harry. "Mostly I just ran away, and tried another country."

Kingsley leaned forward, "What exactly did Garot do?"

"He said it was in Italy," Harry mused. "I was there a couple of times. Didn't like it much, though." A slight grin passed over his face. It had been too hard to find a girlfriend in Italy, their customs a bit too conservative for his liking. He continued, "There was a Death Curse sent at me in Rome, also one in a small village. I can't even remember the name of it, but I think that must be the one, because I managed to stun the wizard. And I didn't manage that very often."

"Then what?" asked Kingsley.

"Then nothing. I took his wand, and left him for the muggles to worry about," and he leaned forward to Madam Bones across the table, and said persuasively, "Let him go, Amelia. He's old and he's sick."

Amelia thought that he was probably right, but she said to Jebedee, "Would you bring them in here? Kingsley can question him."

Harry helped himself to another of the rolls. They were very good, as Amelia had told him, and he often finished his spell-breaking sessions feeling hungry.

Garot and his son were led into the room by Jebedee, accompanied by Mark. There was also a short grey haired wizard with them, who appeared to represent Italian wizardry, and was currently protesting volubly at Garot's detention.

Harry casually poured himself more coffee, and watched as Amelia and Kingsley tried to soothe the man. Old Garot was looking frightened, his son dazed.

The short wizard suddenly caught sight of Harry, his eyes going immediately to the forehead, looking for the identifying lightning shaped scar. But the scar was faded now, and was concealed by Harry's hair, and the wizard was unsure if he was looking at the real Harry Potter or not. No introductions were made. Finally he started listening to the soothing words of Madam Bones. "Only want to ask a few questions," she was saying. "Not under arrest at this stage."

They sat the shaky old man at the table, while his son stood nearby. The Garots may not have been under arrest, but the two aurors were watching them both very closely. Kingsley took a seat opposite the old man, and proceeded to question him. Harry had always known that he was in constant danger in the days of his youth, but the details of the intelligence service used, and the sheer numbers of the wizards trying to kill him, were new to him. He took no part in the questioning, merely sitting relaxed, drinking his coffee, and watched and listened.

It seemed that Garot had tried to kill him three times in different places, before Harry had managed to stun him, and inflict him with the boils that had helped make his last twenty years thoroughly uncomfortable. Garot became voluble. He was appearing to be enjoying telling the story that had been kept secret for many years. It was a story obviously new to his son.

Old Garot told of other attempts that his co-conspirators had made. Many of them had travelled widely, with the express intention of killing Harry Potter, with torture if circumstances permitted. He told of how Harry had so nearly been killed many times. Spells were sent at his back when he appeared distracted. Attempts were made to catch him asleep in bed, and sometimes beautiful young women were sent as decoys, but every one, for some reason, had been totally ignored by Harry. And Garot told, with utmost respect, of Harry's lightning speed and his apparent sixth sense. There had been many times that Harry had been spotted, but was gone by the time a wizard who could do the death spell could be contacted.

Finally the old man's voice dried up. Kingsley turned to Harry, "Do you have any other questions for him, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, "No questions."

The short wizard, who had been trying to bully the English Ministry into freeing Garot, finally knew for sure who he was, and stared at him in fascination. Harry Potter was a legend in many parts of the world. But he only looked quite ordinary sitting there, just a man of average height, a bit thin in the face, a faded scar running down his left cheek, and shortish black hair.

Amelia asked, "What do you think now, Harry? Do you want him charged?"

Harry said again, "He's old and he's sick. Let him go."

The Minister turned to the Garots, and said, "Very well, you are free to go."

The Garots left, and the short Italian wizard was ushered out also, although looking a little unwilling.

Amelia said to Harry, "I don't know how you survived."

"It always seems to me a bit of a miracle, actually. They promised me I'd never reach my eighteenth birthday, and I believed them."

"Oh yes," said Kingsley, "I heard about that Howler."

"It wasn't a Howler," said Harry, "Just a private little note."

"I heard there was a Howler addressed to Albus," said Amelia. "Everybody at dinner heard it one Saturday night. And then it was discovered that you were missing and there was an awful fuss!"

Harry was staring. "A Howler! No wonder I was in trouble!" He laughed, "All these years, and nobody ever told me!"

"So where _were_ you that Saturday night?"

"Oh, just out, enjoying myself." And he gave them a clue to the philosophy that had helped shape his life. "I always reckoned that if life was to be short, I'd best make the most of it!"

That evening, as Harry and Ginny lay close in bed, Harry mentioned the Howler. "No-one ever told me," he said. "All these years, and I never knew."

Ginny said with a shudder, "It was horrible. Everyone was sure that you were dead. People were crying, and the teachers and prefects searched and searched."

"No-one ever told me," said Harry again. "I got an awful dressing down from McGonnagal the day after, and three weeks detention!"

But Ginny was remembering that horrible night. She had been one of the ones in tears, her boyfriend of the time holding her close. The Gryffindors had been sent to bed around midnight, although many had wanted to stay up while they waited for news. Ginny hadn't slept until near dawn. By that time, Harry was sound asleep in his own bed, and had been for hours.

The memory had affected Ginny, and that night, it was Harry who soothed Ginny after a nightmare, rather than the other way round.

Harry Potter still suffered from nightmares. There had been too many desperate fights for freedom, and it seemed that having to battle against the threat of confinement was more traumatic than having to fight for his life. It was the idea of imprisonment and helplessness that sometimes left him white-faced and shaking. He never had bad dreams about killing or being killed.

***chapter end***


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted, belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 2:_

Hermione went to Ginny. She thought it was time that Harry had a proper medical examination again, even though he appeared quite well these days. She knew that Harry would avoid it if possible, but she also knew that if Ginny gave orders, he would obey. But Ginny knew her husband, knew what pleasure he was taking in his renewed vigour and strength, and could see no need for Harry to be reminded of the years of ill health he had suffered. Harry was left in peace.

The Ministry of Magic would also have been very interested in seeing a medical report on Harry Potter. Harry's spell-breaking work had brought the English Ministry enormous prestige. Wizardkind worldwide knew of Harry Potter, and the work that he did that no-one else could do. Harry Potter was a valuable commodity, and even Amelia Bones could forget that he was also a person with rights. But approaches to Healer Hermione Granger, and to Healer John Rutledge, and even to Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, had not resulted in any information being given to the Ministry.

No-one was brave enough to suggest to Harry himself that he be checked over by the Ministry Healer, so the most recent information on file was when he had collapsed years ago, and the opportunity taken to examine him while unconscious. But that information was out of date now, and it did not look like there would be another chance.

The chance did come. But it was not until after Alec McVeigh retired, and Kingsley Shacklebolt took his place as head of the elite auror department of the Ministry of Magic. It was several months after the Garot incident. Harry was doing his regular spell-breaking stint, when he came across an unusual patient. Hermione and Ron, with their small son Ben, were out of the country, and Healer June Hopkirk was acting as her locum. It was a big day, with over twenty patients, most of them from other countries.

This man had been hit with the pumpkin-head curse some months before. Harry had never seen this curse before, and was appalled. Instead of a head, a pumpkin sat on the man's shoulders. It could have been funny if it were not so tragic. The man-vegetable was steered in by a helper and pushed into a chair. There was no independent movement from the man. It could have been a zombie. Harry just looked, going pale himself. Some of the spells he had broken had terrible effects, but he had never seen a man that was no longer a man.

At last, he got out his wand, concentrating, striving to feel the spell. He couldn't seem to get a grip on it. It was like there was no handle to use as a starting point. He tried his magic, with a general thought that the man should be fixed. But nothing happened except a tingling in the air that made the mediwizard flinch. Jebedee had felt it before, and ignored the phenomenon.

Harry stopped, but he was not ready to give up. He directed that the pumpkin-head be set to wait, back in the waiting room, and he'd finish all the other patients, and come back to this one.

Harry's remaining patients that day tended to look rather pale and sick. The pumpkin-head was not a nice sight. Without wasting any time, Harry attended to his other patients. Jebedee was even more efficient than usual steering them quickly out the door, and the patients were glad to go, averting their eyes from the weird sight in the waiting room.

"The pumpkin-head, June," he said to the healer. "I've never seen or heard of such a thing. Do you know anything about it?"

"Only that none of them have ever been cured, and a little about their care."

"How do they live?" asked Harry, "They can't eat or drink, or even breathe."

"No-one knows how they live. But they usually waste away after two or three years."

"It's awful," Harry was saying. "That man can't see or hear - it must be like an unimaginably awful imprisonment!" And he stared into the distance, suddenly shuddering. "Do you know anything else, June, anything at all?"

"That's about it," said Healer Hopkirk.

Harry turned to Jebedee, watching from his corner. "What about you? Do you know anything."

"Well, it's viewed as a killing, and the penalty is the same." He continued, "I've never seen it either, but when we were taught about it in training, the lecturer said that instances of the curse tends to go in cycles - sometimes none, sometimes a few in a short time. But that's all I know."

"He seems to be easy enough to manage. I'd like to see the carer, without the patient. Sometimes it's not easy to tell how much a person knows of what's happening."

So the carer was brought into the room, and the patient left outside, unmoving, apparently unknowing. Harry quizzed the carer about the care of a pumpkin-head. It seemed they lasted longer if their feet were bathed in water now and then, and that they were normally tractable and quiet. The carer stated that a pumpkin-head had never been cured, but said that the relatives of this one wanted to try anyway.

"OK, bring him in," said Harry, and the pumpkin-head was returned to the room. Harry looked back at the man, shuddering. He was thinking again of an awful imprisonment. Unable to see, to taste, to hear - merciful if he were unable to think and feel, but who knew?

Again he concentrated, trying with all his being to _feel_ the spell, or even to feel the person imprisoned inside the monster. He failed in that, but he hadn't finished yet. Sometimes magic works even if the wizard doesn't know what he's doing. He raised his wand, and slowly and gradually, the three people with him felt that tingling of magic increasing in the air. Healer Hopkirk recoiled again, backing away from Harry against the wall. The patient's carer bolted, disappearing out the door. Harry didn't appear to notice. Only Jebedee refused to show his trepidation as the weird feeling in the air became stronger and stronger.

Harry was just standing there, gazing at his patient, wand raised, and the feeling in the air became a discernible humming that seemed to pull at the heartstrings. It went on and on, ever intensifying. The pumpkin-head just stood where he had been placed, apparently feeling nothing, knowing nothing.

Harry Potter gave everything he could in an attempt to free the person inside the monster. But finally the humming died, the tingling left the air, and Harry lowered his wand. "I can't do it," he said, and he went and sat down rather limply in the chair.

The healer went to the door to call the pumpkin-head's carer, and the auror took the arm of the thing and raised it. The man-vegetable stood, as if perfectly familiar with this communication, and was easily guided out the door, leaving Harry looking rather white-faced in his chair.

June Hopkirk was talking to the carer, Jebedee standing behind her, when there was a thud from Hermione's office. Harry was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He had fainted. He was all right, according to Healer Hopkirk's observations - he'd just exhausted himself, she said. June Hopkirk had seen Harry collapse like this before, but he'd been still very ill then.

Jebedee Shacklebolt was seeing an opportunity. He knew full well that the Ministry wanted to gain an overall picture of Harry's health. He'd earned himself some praise when he had brought Harry back to the Ministry, unconscious, on another occasion, and the Ministry Healer had had the chance to give him a full examination. So he told Healer Hopkirk, using his deepest, most reassuring and yet authoritative voice, the voice that he had inherited from his father, that he would take Harry back to the Ministry, where his wife worked, and that way, he could be looked after properly. Harry was showing no sign of returning consciousness, and Healer Hopkirk nodded her consent.

Jebedee gathered up Harry in his arms, as he had once before, although this time feeling that the man was distinctly heavier and more solid that he had been on that occasion, and he apparated with Harry into a small inner office of the Ministry. The unconscious man was deposited onto a narrow bed, and the Ministry Healer arrived at Harry's side within minutes.

Jebedee's father, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Chief Auror, arrived also, waiting and watching as the healer went about his business.

Healer Smythe looked at Harry Potter with some anxiety, quickly feeling pulse and peeling back an eyelid to estimate how deep was the faint. It seemed safe enough, and he proceeded to have Jebedee help him remove his patient's cape and open his shirt. He used his half dozen expensive gadgets and monitors then to get a very clear picture of the health of the Ministry's pet wizard. He wrote down his figures, wasting no time, and then had Jebedee raise the unconscious man so that he could gain an idea of the degree of musculature of the body and shoulders.

Healer Smythe was not quite quick enough, and Harry opened his eyes as Jebedee lowered him gently onto the bed. Harry blinked at the ceiling for a short moment, before looking around at the surrounding men. Quickly he sat up, swinging his feet to the side of the bed. "You!" he said, glaring at Smythe.

The healer quickly backed off, and suddenly turned, almost running out the door.

Harry was looking furious now, getting to his feet, and glaring at Jebedee and at Kingsley. The forehead scar was very prominent, as it tended to be when he was fighting. But he was also still very white, and swaying as he stood.

Kingsley tried to calm him, using his deep voice, which could be almost hypnotic. "You fainted, Harry. We just had the Ministry healer have a quick look at you to make sure you were all right before we got Ginny."

Harry said, and his voice trembled with his fury, "If Smythe is ever allowed near me again, I may very likely do something terrible to him!" and he sat down again on the bed before he fell. His glance fell on the instruments lying on the nearby desk. "A quick look, eh?" he said bitterly. But his head was spinning, and he knew there was no real danger here, no matter how he might resent the intrusion. So he lay back down again, momentarily closing his eyes.

Kingsley said to Jebedee, "Will you fetch Harry's wife, Ginny? She's in Muggle Affairs," and Kingsley quietly gathered up Smythe's notebook and pocketed it. He didn't want Harry trying to destroy the figures. He gathered up the instruments too, putting them back in their packages, and dropping them back into Smythe's bag.

Harry was watching him, although still lying down. "Bloody spies," he said bitterly, sitting up again, slowly and carefully, and reaching for his cape that was folded on the table. He checked that his wand was there, and then started readjusting his clothing. He was still very white, and when he got up from the bed, it was only to conjure himself a comfortable chair and sit down again.

Kingsley had tensed when he drew his wand, and Harry gave him a sideways glance.

Kingsley sat beside him in one of the less comfortable Ministry chairs. But Harry was leaning his head back in the high-backed easy chair he had conjured for himself. He felt horrible - clammy and sick. But he reckoned there was not much wrong with him, he'd just made himself over-tired, as he'd done before. "What do you know about pumpkin-heads?" he suddenly demanded.

Kingsley was surprised. "Why?"

"Didn't Jebedee tell you? That's why I fainted. I tried too hard to cure one."

Kingsley had to shift mental gears, and raked through his memory. He was older than Harry, and remembered a time when the curse had been used several times. "It's supposed to be difficult to do, and impossible to undo. They usually last a few years, but do not appear to be still human. The penalty is the same as the penalty for a killing."

Harry only grunted. "I'd like to see Minister Bones, if it's convenient," Harry said then.

Kingsley rose and taking the notebook in his pocket, and Smythe's bag of gadgets in his hand, he went out the door. He didn't go on the errand himself, but hailed a passing employee and told him to fetch a couple of aurors for him straightaway. Meantime he returned to the room where Harry had leaned his head back again and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, aurors Mark Johnston, Charles Mason, and Trevor Jackson knocked on the door. Kingsley issued his instructions, and also gave the notebook and the bag of instruments to Mason to return as quickly as possible to the healer.

The next knock on the door was Ginny. "They said you collapsed."

Harry stood and smiled at her. "I just fainted, is all. I tackled a spell too tough for me."

"Do you need me then?" Ginny queried.

"Later, if you don't mind. You can take me home when you finish work."

Ginny was looking at him and reached up a hand, and felt his still sweaty forehead. But Harry murmured, "I'm fine. I just want a word with Amelia, and I'll come and find you when it's time."

"I'll go back to work then?" asked Ginny, and Harry smiled and nodded.

Amelia Bones bustled in then. Jebedee had warned her that Harry was not very happy, but the Minister thought she knew the way around him, and came with a helper bringing coffee, and a tray of rolls and sandwiches. Harry was still feeling thoroughly annoyed, but he also felt himself starving hungry. Almost automatically, he took a sandwich from those offered, but he was still frowning at her. "Healer Bruce Smythe," he said, "Don't _ever_ allow him near me again!"

Amelia Bones said blankly, "Why?"

"He signed the committal papers for Fudge, when Fudge tried to have me put away. He and a chap called Barry Batterham. He has no ethics!"

Amelia said slowly, "Dumbledore said he was not going to tell you who they were."

"He didn't. I found out a different way. But if you have to ignore my rights to privacy, at least organise someone with some decency!"

"I'm very sorry, Harry," said Amelia Bones, in a very apologetic voice. But Harry knew perfectly well that Smythe's findings would still be noted.

He was quite right. Smythe had been quietly requested to keep right out of sight, but to prepare a full report without delay. He was not to go home until Minister Bones could see him. Meantime, she repeatedly apologised to Harry, plied him with food, and tried to distract him with questions about his studies.

There was an hour to go before Ginny was off duty, and while Harry no longer felt as bad as he had done, he knew that it would not be a good idea for him to apparate. The pumpkin-head was still on his mind, and while Amelia was so bent on pacifying him, he thought he might as well get a favour from her. He asked if she minded if he went down to the Department of Mysteries. He wanted to get some information.

Amelia hesitated. He still looked rather white and ill, and she had not yet had Smythe's report. Harry only had to raise an eyebrow, and she quickly agreed. She didn't think that she should try Harry's patience further for some time to come. "Kingsley, you might go with him." she instructed. "Make sure that Harry gets full cooperation."

So Harry was able to question the most learned wizards in the land, and while he did hear some interesting theories of exactly what was happening after a man's head had been turned into a pumpkin, he found no help in curing the condition. As he'd already been told, a pumpkin-head had never been rescued.

But it was now the end of the work day for Ginny, and he turned his steps back toward the Department where she worked, Kingsley still walking with him, until Harry asked him, "Are you keeping an eye on me or something?"

Kingsley answered in his deepest and most soothing voice, "You're still looking white. I just want to make sure that you get home all right."

Harry turned a sceptical eye on him, but said nothing more.

As they passed an office in the corridor, Healer Smythe walked out with some papers in his hand. Harry paused, very much tempted to vanish what he was sure was the report on him, but Smythe looked up, saw him, gave an odd sort of a squeak, and quickly retreated back into his office.

It was only when Kingsley came for the healer a half hour later, with definite assurances that Harry Potter had left the building, that Smythe was persuaded to go to the Minister's office and present his report. He was able to tell her that while Harry's energy levels were very low, accounting for the collapse, the significant LV reading was perfectly normal at 102, and weight was only a little below what it should have been. He concluded that Harry Potter was now fully fit.

Amelia listened to him with satisfaction - she had ideas for Harry Potter, but she remembered to warn Smythe to keep right away from him in future. Harry was sufficiently important to the Ministry now that she did not want him risking his position by harming the healer.

She left it a couple of months before requesting that Harry come to her office to discuss a project. Harry listened closely as she advanced the idea that he spend a week at a time in various countries, spell-breaking for their citizens. He would be well looked after, and well paid. But Harry only said maybe one day, when the children were grown, and he answered Madam Bones' persuasive argument that he was the only one who could do the job by saying that that was not his fault, and that maybe people should take more care not to be cursed!

Harry Potter chose not to feel obligated to his patients. Before he was around, and after he was dead, there was no-one who could break certain spells. He was not going to give up the life that was precious to him, in order to dedicate himself to relieving the results of what was often caused by a wizard's own stupidity!

***chapter end***


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 3:_

Harry's twin girls, along with their cousin Gemme, had had a wonderful first year at Hogwarts. They knew the castle well, felt totally at home there, and had secretly ventured into the Forbidden Forest, as well as finding their way to Hogsmeade one weekend. Professor McGonnagal, for so many years the House Mistress of Gryffindor, was talking of retirement.

All three of the girls displayed considerable magical talent, and achieved good marks in their exams. Harry was very proud of them. But he was always rather paranoid, and had plans for them these holidays. He was going to risk teaching them some magic, disregarding the Ministry's feelings about under-age magic. He thought that the spells that made his home hidden, would almost certainly conceal the indications of under-age magic that might emanate from it. If not, he might even see if his influence with Amelia Bones extended to overlooking him teaching his daughters how to defend themselves, much earlier than was generally reckoned necessary.

The girls found that the livestock on their property had been increased by a small flock of twenty-five sheep. Euan Abercrombie had once told Harry that he had practised the Death Curse on sheep, and Harry thought that using sheep to teach the stun spell to his girls was an excellent idea. Adam should already know the stun spell, but he was just going to make sure. Adam was not a natural fighter, as the girls were, being of a retiring and studious disposition. But Harry wanted to ensure that he could defend himself, regardless. He now knew that Voldemort's old supporters were dying off. But Harry Potter seemed to generate enemies, and his family could be in danger also.

Harry's sheep were the best treated sheep in the whole of Great Britain. He knew that most animals have far more intelligence than people were generally willing to allow, so Harry arranged it so that one sheep only was available to stun at any one time, out of sight of the others. Those sheep were provided with the best and tastiest food that he could think of, and grew fat and tender and quiet. If only Harry had consented, they could have made very succulent roasts, but to Harry, they became pets.

His girls grew proficient at the stun spell, and various other defensive spells, and the sheep became more and more immune from sale or slaughter. It's lucky that Harry never had to turn a profit from his land - he was certainly not a farmer!

Harry's sheep may have been pets, but they were not like his beloved horses. The ex-show jumper mare, Sheba, had jumped a few fences one day, and made her way to Max's thoroughbred stallion next door. She now had a brown colt running beside her, and was looking for a stallion again, and Harry organised it for her. He still had the tall grey Seawind, though showing signs of ageing now, and a bay pony, Toby, as well. He thought his horses had been lifesavers for him when he had been ill, providing him with life and movement at a time when he still battled constant fatigue. He had less of a need for them now, but he still loved his horses.

One day in the school holidays, Harry and Ginny showed their girls another of their defences that might one day be needed. There was a house in London that was very secret, and almost forgotten. It was Sirius Black's old house that had been left to Harry when Sirius had been killed by one of Voldemort's supporters.

The girls, just turned twelve, ran through the rooms, screaming with laughter and discovery. Harry explained how the house was protected, and gave his girls the coordinates of the small apparation zone within the house, as well as just outside, where less precision was needed, even though apparation was supposed to wait until a witch or wizard was of age, at seventeen. Harry had his own ideas about that, too. Maybe in another couple of years

He stressed the need for utmost secrecy. This was why young James had not been shown yet. James was only five.

Responsible Adam Bourne had been shown the previous year. Harry had total trust in his stepson, but emphasised to them all, that no-one ever, aside from the immediate family, was to know about this potentially vital last ditch retreat.

On a separate occasion, he took them all to the house again, teaching them to use the London Underground, and ensuring that they should be able to get to the hidden house on their own. What if he and Ginny were killed? What if the Ministry turned on him again and he had to flee?

This reminder to him, of various potential enemies, had another effect. Long ago, he had learned to become a hawk. It had never worked very well, as his sensitivity to spells seemed somehow to extend to becoming an animagus, and the feat always left him feeling quite ill. But now he was well, he was no longer sensitive to spells, and one day, he went by himself to a thick grove of trees, and transformed himself into a hawk. To his pleasure, he discovered that the transformation no longer left him feeling ill and faint.

He did it several times then, practising until he could fly as well as a hawk as he could fly on a broomstick. Due to a very old handicap, the hawk, like his broomstick, tended constantly to veer to the left, and precision of flight was not possible. But Harry thought of the hawk as another potential last ditch defence, especially against imprisonment.

There was need for caution, however, transforming from human to animagus form was more risky than apparating. He knew that it should never be done if a person was not totally fit and fully alert, and when people had tried to take him prisoner in the past, they always seemed to start by drugging him, or trying to. Being an unregistered animagus was also illegal. One was supposed to register with the Ministry of Magic, the penalty for not doing so was quite heavy.

After some thought, he told Ginny about this ability. No-one else knew, except Professors Dumbledore and McGonnagal, who had taught him in his final weeks as a school student. Yet he seemed to be under little threat these days. When he appeared in public, usually an auror would appear shortly also, purporting to be a bodyguard, although Harry was always convinced that they were there mostly to spy on him. He refused to cooperate whenever it was suggested that he give prior warning of his moves.

**xx**

More years went by. The girls progressed through the school, laughing, popular, and frequently in trouble for their rule-breaking. Harry watched, amused at their progress, as their mischief was never vicious, although sometimes dangerous. In spite of the trouble they caused, the teachers liked Meg and Vicky, as well as their cousin Gemme. The three could almost have been triplets. They were always seen together.

Dumbledore never rostered Harry to teach those classes which included his girls. He suspected that Harry would find it quite impossible to discipline them, although maybe he was wrong in this. All Harry's children respected him, and would do as he said. The trouble was that he was apt to laugh at a piece of straightforward mischief, rather than being annoyed. Even when the trio horrified him by going into the Forbidden Forest in order to find a unicorn, he only rebuked them fairly mildly. Professor McGonnagal was furious, and the girls were on detention yet again.

Academically, the twins were having little trouble, although their teachers sometimes rebuked them for inadequate care and attention to detail. They were very messy, too.

In their third year, they both won places in the Gryffindor Quidditch team, although Gemme never flew well. Gemme felt a bit bereft when she was excluded from something that Meg and Vicki were involved in, and to console herself, she started work on inventing some fairly spectacular fireworks. But they managed to put out the fire in the end.

In their fourth year, Victoria and Margaret confided to their mother that they wanted to be aurors when they grew up, and they referred to an almost forgotten incident. They had only been six when a wizard had come onto their property, and had tried to take away Vicky as a hostage to exchange for Harry. Harry had killed the wizard, and no-one had spoken much of what had happened since. But obviously the twins remembered. They said that they wanted to be able to arrest Dark Wizards, or maybe just kill them like their father did. Ginny had to explain that people were not actually allowed to kill as their father had done, and that Harry could be in big trouble if anyone was told what he had done. That that incident still had to be kept very secret.

She also spoke of another occasion a long time ago. She and their uncle Ron had both been aurors, and had overheard a group of their seniors discussing Harry Potter - that he was just too powerful, and that it would be a good thing if one of those Death Curses killed him. 'We'd all be safer,' one had said, and not so long after, aurors had been sent to take Harry as a prisoner, to have him committed, imprisoned, to keep him helpless, presumably for the rest of his life.

"Harry still doesn't trust the Ministry, and he doesn't really trust those aurors either. They say they're bodyguards, but your father says they're more like spies, keeping an eye on him. This house is hidden from the Ministry, as well as from other potential enemies," and Ginny concluded, "If you choose to be an auror, it is possible that one day you could be sent against your father. I think that you should look for a different career."

Margaret and Victoria thought carefully about what they had been told, and regarded the aurors that tended to surround Harry when he was out, in a different light. They stopped talking of becoming aurors.

Harry's teaching roster varied a great deal from day to day and week to week. He filled in whenever a teacher was absent, helped Hagrid still, and was in demand by almost all the teachers when their students had trouble with certain magic or concepts. He had a few regular classes - for instance, Dumbledore had imposed a compulsory six week course of Muggle Studies Ethics, which Harry always took. And there were always the study groups, which sounded as if they should have been quiet and serious, but with Professor Potter, were often enormous fun.

The twins were not quite fifteen, and it was the summer holidays again. The family had spent a month in Australia, part of it with an old friend of Harry's called Ben. Ben now ran a host farm, and Harry, Ginny and the three children had swum in the river, gone horse-riding every day, and generally enjoyed an unfamiliar life-style. The redheads soon learned to take extreme care in the hot sun, but Harry and James only turned brown, making the white scar over Harry's ribs appear more obvious than it had been for years.

Ben was a redhead, too. Harry had spent five months with him jackerooing when Ben had been just eighteen, and Harry only a couple of years older. Ben knew that Harry was something different, although it had never actually been discussed between them. But there was an incident when Ben had been gored and tossed by a bull, and through a haze of pain, had seen Harry use his wand to stun the beast that was coming back for a second go.

When he'd woken, the thigh that had been twisted and with a bone protruding, was straight again, and just a touch sore. Ben had never questioned Harry, and only agreed when Harry told him that he was suffering a bit of concussion. But when Harry was thrown from his horse, knocking himself out and breaking his own leg, Ben had taken the wand from Harry's pocket, and waved it at the leg, telling it to be fixed. Nothing happened, but he'd thought it worth a try. There were wild pigs about, and the smell of blood.

Harry had woken in hospital, and had only seen Ben again when Ben had come to the city for a brief visit, before Harry embarked on a ship to England, his leg still in plaster. They'd kept in contact.

The family were back in England a week into August, and it was the twins' fifteenth birthday. The twins conferred. At first, they thought that they might want a horse each, to Harry's pleasure, but to Ginny's dismay, but they changed their minds, and decided that they each wanted a really good broomstick instead. They both planned to play Quidditch for England when they left school, as their Uncle Ron had done for several years.

Mail was waiting for the Potters when they returned to their home, and when the girls opened their Hogwarts letters, Harry watched curiously. Adam had been a prefect, the honour well deserved. Adam was responsible and intelligent. Julia had also been appointed by Dumbledore as a prefect, although Harry had been very surprised at that choice.

No prefect badge fell out of either of the girls' letters. Instead, not long after, they heard that Catherine Longbottom was appointed as the Gryffindor prefect, to her parents' thrilled excitement. Poor Catherine never managed to exercise the least control over Meg, Vicki or Gemme, but was an excellent prefect in every other respect.

Other mail came for the Potters, including fan mail for Harry, along with the occasional death threat, or hate mail. Margaret Brown, his secretary, handled most of it without reference to Harry. Harry dropped into her office every week or so, always being rather amused at the air of disapproval she showed as she regarded him. Hedwig liked Margaret, and could often be found on a perch in Margaret's office, watching her as she opened letters.

This time, Harry found her in the middle of sorting his mail, and he casually picked up a letter from a pile on the desk, ignoring her frown. It was his mail, after all. It was only a pile of thank yous, which Margaret always replied to with a perfectly courteous standard letter, knowing that Harry was not interested in reading them.

Curiously, he picked up one from another pile, and Margaret's frown intensified. To his bemusement, it was from a young girl. She wanted a favour from the great Harry Potter. She wanted him to 'deflower' her. Harry took a moment to take this in, and then broke into a splutter of laughter. "How were you planning to answer this then?" he asked Margaret. Unsmiling, she handed him another letter, which appeared to be another standard letter, as it was not addressed. Harry read it. The letter was still courteous, but a touch moralistic, and indicated total disinterest from Harry.

"Have there been others like this?"

Margaret answered coldly, "Every now and then. It appears to be a bit of a fashion, sometimes."

"You never told me about these," and he added provocatively. "What if I had wanted to oblige them?"

Margaret Brown's disapproval rose a notch further, and Harry was very tempted to request a list of names and addresses, just to see what she'd say. But Margaret Brown was indispensable, and he thought that he'd better not. Maybe she should have a raise instead. He handed back the letter, but shared the joke with Ginny when he saw her next.

The first of September came around, the girls went off to Hogwarts, and James started back at the local day school. James looked even more like Harry now, but was not much like him in other ways. James was studious, and was seldom seen without a book in hand. And while not a coward, some of the more risky things that his adventurous sisters did, merely struck James as foolish. His ambition was to follow his step-brother Adam to a place in the Department of Mysteries, and to spend his life exploring advanced magic, as Adam was studying to do.

On the first Wednesday afternoon after school resumed, Ginny found Harry in the gym. His spell-breaking stint had gone particularly quickly and easily that day, and he was home early. Ginny had a day off.

Harry saw her coming, but she waved at him to continue. She was enjoying looking at him. He may have been forty-five now, but his body was as fit and muscular as it had been twenty years earlier. It was only that he wore glasses, and maybe the expression in his eyes, that showed he was not still a young man. He was still brown from the Australian sun, wore only a pair of exercise shorts, and his shoulder muscles were flexing and straining as he used the rowing machine. He was shiny with sweat, and the white scar across his ribs was fascinating to her as his lean body moved rhythmically on the machine. Ginny had a sudden desire to run her fingers along that scar.

There was no lock on the door of the gymnasium, so Ginny used her wand to lock the door. She didn't want any interruptions.

Six weeks later, as Ginny and Harry held each other in their bed at night, she gave him a delightful surprise. There was going to be another baby, and Harry was thrilled.

Ginny's other pregnancies had been difficult. She had felt ill and tired each time, especially the last time, when she was expecting James. This time, she felt wonderful, and the radiance that pregnant women are supposed to show, and seldom do, shone from her. She was blissfully happy, and so was Harry.

Harry's enemies were active again, or maybe there was a new lot. One day, as he emerged from Hermione's offices, following Trevor Jackson, the auror currently assigned to him, he suddenly hurled himself to the side, as a green streak of light shot toward him. Trevor and Harry both had their wands drawn, but there was just a crack, as the culprit disapparated.

Harry looked thoughtfully in the direction of the crack. He had killed once before even though the man had left the scene, but it was not a good idea to get himself in trouble with the Ministry, and Ron and Ginny had made it very clear to him that executions were not regarded in the same light as fighting deaths.

After that incident, he was more heavily protected, with at least two aurors appearing whenever he was out in public. Hermione's offices were guarded inside and out, when he did his healing sessions. Harry rather discounted the aurors as potential protectors, they only seemed to be able to react after the event, and Harry had learned in the course of a very dangerous life, to take action at the first prickles of danger.

There were more attempts to kill him. Twice, within the grounds of Hogwarts, spells came hurtling toward him. Once, he managed to stun his attacker, but when questioned, it seemed that the attacker was hired, and could not give any information as to motive.

At a Ministry function, Harry was about to take a first sip from a drink, and felt such a sudden alarm go through him that he dropped it on the floor, as he flipped around looking for the attacker. A few people close by laughed, and more rumours spread about Harry Potter's paranoia.

Another drink was supplied by the courteous waiter, but a shudder went through him, as he started to raise it to his lips. This time, he looked at the drink, and quietly changed his glass into a sealed bottle. Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing close by, so Harry had a quiet word with him, and handed him the bottle.

Harry had been right. The drink he had been given was poisoned. It was a subtle poison, and would not have had any obvious immediate effect. No-one was ever brought to book. After that, he didn't eat or drink when he was out, except at a private home, where he thought he was safe enough.

Harry Potter had been subject to the threat of sudden death for most of his life, and never let it disturb his enjoyment of life, only reacting with an increased caution. He still played hard, as he always had, with his broomstick at Hogwarts, and with his horses at home. He missed having Sheba as fit as she had been once. She was in foal again, and her desire to buck and frolic with Harry had diminished. But her first colt was now a three year old, and wanted to play as much as Harry did. The colt was a bit young for sustained riding, Seawind too old, and Toby too sedate for Harry's liking, but there were now five horses running in the paddock, including another filly foal of Sheba's, and Harry thought that maybe he should just be patient, and wait for the colt to grow up a bit.

Harry Potter was a prominent figure in the world of wizardry. His views had a lot of influence, to the annoyance of some, who regarded Harry as a 'Muggle-lover.' As a member of the Wizemgamot, he sometimes served on disciplinary committees, as well as full trials, which were held for serious offences, but were much less common.

Harry was apt to come down very severely on wizards who tormented muggles, and so was unpopular with some members of the pureblood fraternity, who regarded muggles as so far beneath them that a little muggle-baiting was a perfectly reasonable outlet for youthful high spirits. He'd helped re-write some laws, too, as well as having an influence in politics. There was talk that he should join the Ministry, maybe eventually becoming Minister for Magic himself.

But Harry, while he definitely liked being respectable, had no real interest in the underhanded wheelings and dealings of politics, and certainly no desire whatsoever, to be Minister for Magic. The only thing about that, he felt, was that he would feel safer from them. But Amelia Bones was pretty good. She might grab the opportunity to have him medically examined if he was rash enough to faint in the presence of an auror, but she provided excellent afternoon teas!

***chapter end***


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaime__r: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Warning__: character death in this chapter._

_Chapter 4:_

Harry Potter taught with enthusiasm and enjoyment, his spell-breaking was quick and efficient, and his children were a pleasure to him. He was as much in love with his wife as he ever had been. These were happy days.

With every reason to enjoy life, toward the end of January, Harry started to feel uneasy. There was nothing really to worry him. Ginny continued very well, and the children were healthy and happy. Hedwig was looking rather off-colour, and he took her to Hagrid one day. Hagrid had a real feeling for all animals.

Hagrid looked at her, but had no good news for Harry. Hedwig was getting old, he said. Animals as well as people live, thrive, then became old, and finally die. Part of life. One just has to accept it. Harry stroked Hedwig. She had been with him since he was eleven. She had perched on his bedhead when he had been desperately ill, and had kept him company during the long months of recovery. Hedwig was important to him.

He looked at Hagrid then, and said, "You don't look a day older than when I first saw you."

"Ah, well that would be my giant blood," said Hagrid, wisely. "A full life span for a giant is quite long, though of course, they nearly always die fighting - a long way short of a full life." He added something that Harry had not known. "Grawp's dead now, and his wife, though they were both a lot younger than me."

"I'm sorry," said Harry.

"Don't be sorry, Harry, I told you, it's all part of life. People live and people die. And so do the animals and the birds. That's the way it is."

When Harry had thought about death, he had tended to think of sudden fighting deaths, or maybe deaths after accident or severe illness, but he was getting to an age now when some of his friends were indeed starting to get quite old. Severus Snape was well over seventy now, and looked it. But his health had not appeared to suffer, and he still instilled as much respect in his students as ever.

Minerva McGonnagal, however, was planning to retire at the end of the school year. She told Harry that his girls were too much for her, but as she always spoke of them with a glint of humour, and Harry had seen her in tears of laughter at their latest escapade, he thought that she derived more enjoyment than worry from them.

Poppy Pomfrey was also getting old, but still ran the hospital with stern efficiency and never spoke of retirement. Harry visited her often. Poppy had several times looked after him when he had been desperately ill, and took a continuing pleasure in seeing his health and wellbeing now.

He refused her when she wanted to examine him. She may have done a lot for him when he was sick, but any hint of medical examinations these days had him shying off like a nervous pony. They were like a sinister reminder of illness, and his last illness had been too severe and too long lasting. He never wanted to be sick like that again.

That weekend, Ron and Hermione visited. Their son, Ben, had gone off with James, ignoring the rain, and the adults were sitting in front of the fire, talking. Harry's mind was still running on what Hagrid had told him. _It's all part of life. People live and people die. And so do the animals and the birds. That's the way it is, _and he asked Hermione about Dumbledore, who had to be well into his second hundred years.

Hermione told him something that Harry knew theoretically, but had never thought much about. Certain powerful wizards, she said, seemed to live much longer than most people. That while an ordinary wizard lived no longer than an ordinary muggle, there might be one or two powerful witches or wizards in a generation who lived considerably longer, and she looked with speculation at Harry. Harry had lived, more than once, when all indications were that he would die, and while she hadn't had a chance to have a thorough look at him for some years, she had started to think that, given the chance, Harry might be one of those rare individuals. He was certainly a very powerful wizard, and he looked considerably younger than his age.

Harry never related what Hermione had said about powerful wizards to himself. He was too much in the habit of thinking his life uncertain, and potentially short. He noticed, though, that Dumbledore no longer walked with the energy he had once displayed.

'Animals as well as people live, thrive, then became old and finally die. Part of life. One just has to accept it,' Hagrid had said. But when Harry returned to his office a few days later and found Hedwig dead on the floor, his eyes still filled with tears, and he picked her up with tenderness, before taking her home to bury her next to a little grave marked 'Tammy.'

As the weeks progressed, Harry remained uneasy, even though the attempts to kill him had decreased again. He doubled his security staff at home, and became extreme in his caution. He was very rarely seen in public now, and the old nickname of 'Mad-Eye Potter' was heard again. His nightmares increased in frequency, and his play sometimes had almost a desperate quality. There was something wrong and he didn't know what it was.

Ginny usually had considerable respect for Harry's instinct for danger, but she felt so radiantly happy and healthy in her pregnancy that she started to think that he really was just being silly.

Out of the blue, Harry became certain that the danger was not to himself, and started worrying more about his family. First he insisted that James be escorted to school, instead of going on the school bus as his friends did. He spoke to the girls, trying to make sure that they were not getting into dangerous mischief, but they answered him frankly. They were deeply involved in studying for their OWLs, they were too busy for mischief right now. His girls were straightforward, without deviousness, and Harry believed them. There was danger threatening, he knew it, and his eyes grew shadowed as he slept more and more badly.

One day, he insisted that Ginny go to Hermione for a very full medical checkup, and Ginny, knowing of his worry, did as he asked. Hermione said that Ginny was in perfect health.

Harry's worry turned to James again. He seemed so vulnerable in the muggle school he attended, and he went to Dumbledore with his worry. James was only just nine, but Harry wanted him safe at Hogwarts. Dumbledore looked at Harry, saw how pale he was, with blackly shadowed eyes, and how his hand briefly shook when he raised his cup of tea, and he asked if Harry himself had been checked out.

Harry said, "It's not me. Something's going to happen to my family," and there was a desperate note in his voice. "There's danger, but I don't know where it is."

Dumbledore said reassuringly, "You've been like this, before, remember, the first year you came back after your illness. And nothing happened."

"Don't you remember me returning those library books that Julia had? The books on poisons? Reminding me of that time is _not_ a reassurance!"

"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten."

After a thoughtful pause, he said, "I'll come home with you today, and see what Ginny thinks about it. And I want you to see Hermione or Poppy, and have yourself checked out. I'd get John Rutledge to you, except that he's in such poor health now. We all get old."

Dumbledore spoke with Ginny and James that evening, as Harry sat, waiting. James was excited at the thought of going to Hogwarts for maybe a few weeks, and Ginny just wanted Harry happier. Harry showed how worried he was by agreeing, in return, to allow Hermione to examine him in two days' time, straight after his spell-breaking stint.

Harry was fretting about Ginny now, but Ginny refused to leave work when she felt so well. She did agree not to go out of the Ministry building, and to be very careful even in the corridors. Ginny had been an auror, and Harry knew she could look after herself. But somehow his worry only grew more acute.

He took James with him to Hogwarts the following morning, apparating for a change, just outside the main gates that had often been quite hazardous for him. But his worry did not extend to that area this time.

James was put into Gryffindor house as a temporary measure, as his sisters were there, and Harry asked one of the first years, one of his muggle-borns, to look after his son, taking him with him to lessons to keep him occupied and out of trouble. James had his wand, and Harry had taught him some basic magic already. James didn't share his father's worry, and started to really enjoy himself.

Wednesday, Harry took his morning's classes, with little enjoyment, and had a tendency to stare frowning into the distance.

Wednesday afternoon, he finished his spell-breaking work, and then sent the auror, Trevor, to wait outside while Hermione did her examination. Trevor, although surprised, was prepared with his eavesdropping device and ready to listen in. Hermione had the chance that she'd been wanting for some years - to do a thorough examination of Harry.

She was pleased at how fit he was looking, and when she saw no signs of ageing in his physique, she had more evidence to add to her growing suspicion that Harry Potter was not going to age normally.

When she pulled out her Nisco Monitor, she expected to see Harry's usual annoyed frown at its appearance, but he was abstracted, obeying instructions, but otherwise scarcely taking any notice of what she was doing. She found the energy levels low, and remembered that Ginny had told her that he had not been sleeping, It was the other reading that had her staring at Harry in surprise. The LV reading was very high. Normal levels range from 95 to 105, with the vast majority very close to 100. The highest reading possible on this monitor was 115, and this is what Harry's reading was saying, indicating that it may have been even higher.

But she knew Harry's impatience with the monitor readings, and only told him to get dressed, that he was fine, but that he should try harder to get more sleep. She didn't even need to worry about him apparating. While the energy levels were low, they were not as low as they had always been a few years before when he had been so sick. And she'd usually allowed him to apparate then.

So Harry went home, and waited anxiously for Ginny. Ginny asked him what Hermione had told him, and Harry told her that Hermione said he was fine. He didn't want to let Ginny out of his sight that evening, until she became quite tired of him. That night, there was a desperate, urgent quality in his love-making, and while she enjoyed it, as always, she stroked his forehead as he slept briefly afterward. This husband of hers was wonderful so often, but right now, he was being a bit of a pain!

Harry soon woke in the grip of a confused nightmare, and spent the rest of the night as close as possible to his wife. Ginny was woken in the morning, as he gently stroked her body, kissing and touching. Their morning love-making was gentle, and without the frantic quality of the previous night.

Harry seemed more settled now, and didn't even try to nag her to stay home and be safe. Ginny was relieved. She felt so well these days in her pregnancy, and it was only Harry's state of mind that had been spoiling things for her. But maybe whatever was bothering him was over.

Harry seemed better at Hogwarts, too, performing his teaching duties with more attention than he had been paying lately. He was even seen to laugh once, when one of his students turned his desk into a watermelon, instead of the basketball that had been on top of it.

At lunchtime, his fellow teachers were pleased to see him in better spirits, and Dumbledore thought, like Ginny, that whatever had been bothering him was over. James was being fussed over by the first years at Gryffindor table. They were enjoying having someone younger than themselves at Hogwarts. And James had discovered that he was able to learn the spells and charms that he was exposed to, almost as well as anyone else.

The first period of the afternoon for Harry was a Defence class. As young Professor Marsh, the Defence teacher, was so frequently ill, he did a lot of these. He had forgotten to worry, and was talking enthusiastically as he explained to his class how to dispose of a boggart.

He had just set them to read a segment of their text books, sitting down himself, when he suddenly stood again, cried, _"Ginny!"_ in a voice of anguish, and disapparated in front of their eyes.

In the Ministry of Magic, Ginny was on the floor. She had only just fallen, and people around her were still getting to their feet, not even sure yet what had happened. She appeared to have fainted, but pregnant women do that now and then, and no-one had yet realised that this was more than a faint. It was only when her husband abruptly appeared, apparating in a zone where it was supposed to be impossible, that there was beginning realisation that this was more serious than they had realised.

Ginny's eyes were open, although filmed with extreme pain. Harry's face as he gathered her up in his arms was the last thing she saw as awareness died. Ginny was dead in his arms, her eyes still open, but glazing. Harry's face was wet with tears. How could he live without his Ginny?

The Ministry mediwizard had been called, but Healer Smythe took one look at Harry and backed off, stammering that someone else would have to be called, anyone else.

Harry knelt, cradling Ginny in his arms, head bent over her. It was obvious that she was dead, her eyes still open, her body utterly limp. A silent circle gathered around, not knowing what to do. At last, taking no notice of onlookers, Harry rose, lifting his Ginny in his arms, and he disapparated with her, as he took his wife home.

Back at Hogwarts, a class sat confused, looking for direction. Maybe they should just finish the chapter they had been told to read. At last, they started to pack and leave, and two went to tell Professor McGonnagal that Harry Potter had gone. Professor McGonnagal took the two girls to Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore got the details. Harry had called the name of his wife, and then vanished. He had disapparated, when everyone knew that no-one could apparate or disapparate within the bounds of Hogwarts.

Professor Dumbledore knew better than Harry did himself that he had some telepathic ability. He knew from what he was told, that something had happened to Ginny, almost certainly the thing that had been causing Harry so much worry in the last month. He went to the gates of Hogwarts, where he, too, disapparated, arriving at Harry's place.

Hermione had been contacted by Madam Bones, and arrived in the apparation zone that was at a distance from the house at the same time as Dumbledore. They walked together, sadly, not hurrying. From the information given to her by Madam Bones, Hermione was able to tell Dumbledore what he had already suspected. Ginny was dead.

It was Adam, Ginny's grown up son, and Harry's stepson, who opened the door, and led Hermione and Dumbledore to the bedroom.

With great tenderness, Harry Potter had sponged the body of his wife, cleaning and dressing it in new robes. Remembering what needed to be done from his experience when Julia died, he had looked after his wife himself. Only that morning he had made love with her, now he laid out the body, finally closing her hand around her wand, as custom dictated.

When Dumbledore and Hermione entered, he was just sitting beside her, tears running down his face again. How could he live without his Ginny?

"Harry," said Dumbledore gently.

Harry looked up, and Hermione went to him and hugged him. Hermione then went softly to Ginny, checking that she was indeed dead, although she had never doubted the fact. Harry stood in the corner, watching Hermione as she gently touched the body, already stiffening in death.

"Do you want me to tell the children?" asked Dumbledore.

But Harry rose and said that No, he would do that.

Adam sat beside his mother. He would keep vigil for a time.

There had been rumours at Hogwarts about Harry's disappearance. Harry's children knew that Harry was not like other men. They knew that he had called their mother's name, and disapparated. And they knew that he had been increasingly worried for the past several weeks. They were not surprised when Professor McGonnagal collected them from their classes and took them to Harry's office.

Harry was calm, merely telling them that their mother had died suddenly. It was not an attack, just something that had happened.

"Why did she die?" asked James. "We needed her."

Harry told them, his voice steady, that no-one knew why these things happened, that sometimes they could not be helped. That something had suddenly gone drastically wrong in Ginny's brain, and that was why she had died.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the corner of the room, his own eyes wet. And he later confirmed with Hermione that what Harry said was almost certainly the case. Although Wizardkind did not do autopsies, Hermione stated that it was almost certainly an aneurysm, quietly growing in Ginny's brain for the last several weeks, and suddenly rupturing. She had died in pain, but the pain had lasted only minutes. And then she was dead.

Ginny was buried from her parents' home, her coffin borne by her six brothers, and followed by her husband and her four children. A strong wind was blowing, and the capes of the wizards and witches whipped about in the air. Aurors were dispersed throughout the crowd, and surrounded the grounds where the funeral was held. Harry, himself, was quite forgetful that he was subject to frequent death attempts, but the presence of so many aurors ensured an incident free funeral.

Ginny died mid March, on a Thursday. She was buried two days later, and Harry returned to work on the following Wednesday. Margaret and Victoria also returned to Hogwarts, and James returned to his muggle day school. Adam was absorbed in his studies, and for hours at a time, he would forget that he had suffered a loss. Acceptance for him came quickly.

Harry's own children appeared to be coping well, in spite of the suddenness of the change in their lives. There was sadness and there were tears, but there was acceptance. The girls were busy in their lives, and that helped them. There were still important exams coming up. And they had their Quidditch, and they had their boyfriends. James had a harder time coping, but he was home with Harry, and Harry was able to help him. Harry had lost people before in his life, and knew that one just had to go on living. There was no turning the clock back. And James came to accept his loss.

To the unknowing eye, Harry also appeared to be coping well. He was not distraught, he was calm, if rather abstracted, and he did his spell-breaking work with his usual speed and efficiency. But he was not himself. It was like he was no longer fully alive. He was vague, forgetful, and tended to answer at random when spoken to. He no longer taught with enthusiasm, but he mostly taught with calm efficiency, except for when he forgot that he was teaching at all, and stared out the window instead.

Once he gave his Defence students homework that should have been given for quite another subject. And twice he arrived in a classroom, and gazed about him blankly, until his students reminded him what he was supposed to be doing. There was no laughter and no joy.

Albus Dumbledore tried to help him, as Harry had been able to help his son James. But Dumbledore thought that, while Harry answered with automatic courtesy, he was scarcely aware that he was not alone.

Harry was not coping with his loss. He and Ginny had been too close, and he felt as if half his soul had been wrenched from him.

Hermione and Ron, Harry's closest friends, were grieving for Ginny, too. Ginny had been Ron's precious little sister. But Hermione and Ron, Ginny's family, and Ginny's friends, even Ginny's children, knew they were still alive. Harry Potter was acting as if he was not particularly interested in whether he was alive or dead.

Three weeks after Ginny died, on a Friday, the Weasley twins, Fred and George, took matters into their own hands. They thought they knew what Harry needed, and they spoke to Dumbledore, who pondered on it, and decided to let them have their way. So straight after lessons, Harry found Fred and George waiting for him in his office. They informed him that Hermione and Ron, with their son Ben, were staying at his house, to look after James, and that Harry was to go with them.

Harry looked at them, not quite knowing what they wanted. But he had no desires of his own these days, he had always liked Fred and George, and they were telling him what to do, so he went along with them.

Fred and George took him straight to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. And then they started getting him drunk. Harry was quite easy to steer these days, as he was without any particular wishes of his own. So he was firmly sat down and a beer was put in front of him. Fred and George talked together, Harry agreeing with whatever was said, whenever the conversation went his way.

After the third beer, Harry had apparently had enough, because, although he didn't say anything, he rather vaguely got to his feet, and started walking toward the door. Fred and George immediately joined him, and steered him to the second pub in the small town. And this time there was no messing about, Firewhiskys were placed in front of Harry, and he was urged to drink.

Fred and George, too, were apparently drinking, but their drinks were not the drinks that Harry was taking.

After the third firewhisky, Harry was looking more vague than ever, and he stared at the fourth firewhisky that was suddenly in front of him, and said that he didn't think he'd have any more, he didn't like firewhisky very much. But Fred said that his feelings would be hurt if he didn't drink it, and George ordered an acid brandy for him next time, even higher in alcohol content than the potent firewhiskys.

For someone who seldom drank much at all, it seemed to be taking a very long time for Harry to be much affected. Harry Potter had only once been thoroughly drunk in his life, and now he only seemed to become more vague, and more easily told what he should do. It took three more acid brandies before tears started leaking gently from his eyes, and Ginny's brothers thought that they were finally achieving their aim.

Harry had stopped drinking, but when he looked up at George, the shutters had dropped from his eyes. There was a sudden full realisation there, and the realisation was of a devastating tragedy. Harry stood, and swayed his way dizzily toward the door.

Outside, he stopped, staring into the night, but started to stagger. And suddenly, in his left hand, a cane appeared which he used to regain his balance. Fred, behind him, gaped. Conjuring was difficult magic at the best of times, and to conjure without a wand, with precision, and to do it while drunk, was altogether amazing.

Harry's eyes were streaming tears now, and Fred and George went, one to either side, and started steering him back in the direction of the castle. "Tell me about Ginny, Harry," prompted Fred.

Harry said nothing. George, who knew about their summer holidays, added, "I bet she didn't think much of horse-riding."

"No, she likes broomsticks best," said Harry.

They noted that he still spoke of her in the present tense. Fred and George may have been jokers, but they had enough of wisdom to know that Harry had to accept that Ginny was dead, before he could go on with living. But by mutual consent, they left any confrontation until they had Harry away from other people.

The Weasley twins had forgotten that Harry had spells hurled at him now and then. And Harry no longer appeared to care. But when a green streak of light shot at Harry from a shadowed corner, an automatic response was called forth, and Harry batted it to the ground. The crack of a disapparation was heard, indicating that, as always, the attacker had left.

Harry merely started staggering again in the direction of the castle, but Fred and George were thoroughly shocked, and had their wands out, looking all about, and didn't relax until they came to the main gate of Hogwarts. Fred was holding Harry's arm, Harry was staring into the distance, a tragic expression on his face. "Come on, Harry," they bullied him, "You've got to sign us in."

Harry did as he was told, scrawling his signature on the sheet held up for him by Caradoc. But when they went into the grounds, he seemed suddenly to develop a mind of his own, and headed toward the Forbidden Forest.

"What are you doing, Harry?" asked Fred in alarm, "You can't go in there, not in your present state."

"It's good in the trees," said Harry. "They don't think." And he continued until George grabbed him firmly again and turned him around. But this time, he resisted, and tried to shake him off. "I want to go into the trees," he insisted.

"No, you can't. Ginny's not there!" said Fred.

Harry was still staring at the trees, but he said, with infinite sadness, "Ginny's not there!"

He dropped to the ground and bowed his head. Fred and George looked at each other, and sat down on the ground beside him. They wanted Harry to talk. They thought that he had to talk, and maybe to cry. And maybe only then could he understand his loss, and start to live again. So they started themselves to talk about Ginny, how she had been when she'd been a kid, how she had suddenly married David, with only the two sets of parents present. How she had borrowed their broomsticks without permission, and how she had mastered the Bat Bogey Hex, and used it to punish Fred when he had played a trick on her.

And finally, Harry started talking, almost at random. His words were jumbled, sometimes indistinct, but the brothers gained a picture of a marriage of such closeness that they were envious. He talked on and on, but finally ground to a halt, his head dropped, staring at the ground.

"And then she died!" said Fred.

"She died," repeated George.

Harry had not moved.

"We'll never see her again."

Harry was getting to his feet, with the help of another suddenly conjured cane in his left hand, making George this time, blink in disbelief. Harry stared into the night, and called to the night in a tone of desperation, _"Ginny!"_ And again, _"Ginny!"_

There was no answer. Two security guards watched from a distance, but didn't dream of interfering.

"She's dead, Harry," said George, and Harry dropped to his knees and his shoulders heaved in sobs.

Harry Potter finally cried for his wife, bitter, bitter tears of realisation. He had cried when she had died, but in the weeks after, it had been like he could no longer stand the grief, and had shut himself away. It lasted a long time.

His good friends just waited. And only when he finally stopped of his own volition did they urge him to his feet, and steer the stumbling, sodden figure back to his room. Dumbledore was waiting for them. Dumbledore cared very deeply for Harry, and had wanted to see him home.

Fred and George went to see Albus Dumbledore after they left Harry. They told him that there had been a Death Curse, but that Harry had dealt with it, and apparently immediately forgotten all about it. They were also marvelling at Harry's unheard of ability to instantly conjure a cane for himself. But Dumbledore warned them not to say anything about that. Harry, in the trauma of the last weeks, had already betrayed his ability to ignore anti-apparation charms, and Dumbledore knew that he far preferred his abilities to be kept very quiet. It was an indication of his state of mind that he had forgotten to be discreet.

It had not been late when Harry had been put to bed by his brothers in law, and he woke quite early in the morning. Maybe life was returning, as he was ravenously hungry. There had been no dinner the previous night, and he had eaten little for the past three weeks. He was rather thin again.

Gemme turned into the corner coming toward him as he left the hall after a large breakfast. She was holding hands with young Davenport, who looked curiously at Harry. His older brother had tried to stun him once, and the story was a legend in his family. Gemme came to him, and put her arms around him. "I'm sorry, Uncle Harry," she said.

Harry hugged her back, and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you, Gemme." And he went back to his office and disapparated. It was time to go home.

**xx**

After James was in bed that night, Harry went out. James had been warned, and knew to go to the cook if he needed anything. There are advantages in having a live-in staff

That Saturday night, Harry went to a muggle pub beside the beach, and sat waiting and watching the people around him. Before long, he thought he saw what he wanted. A woman had entered, bought herself a drink, and looked around. She, too, knew what she wanted, and took little time to make up her mind.

They retired to the rented beachside apartment. The man that Linda had picked up was exciting in looks, and she enjoyed the beauty of his body. But she was disappointed when the sex was over so quickly, and she had to wait a little before a second round gave her the satisfaction she craved. She was happy then, and didn't realise what an effort Harry had made not to start sobbing in her arms at the climax of their pleasure. Always a moment of heightened emotionalism, it had brought raw feelings to the surface.

He held her in his arms for a time as she slept. Then he rose, left a note for her, suggesting a meeting at a breakfast place in the morning, and took himself to the beach, where he walked many miles in the dark, tears again on his cheeks.

After a great loss, there is never an immediate and total cure. But Harry Potter had turned the corner and started to live again. If he was quieter than he had been, he started to laugh and smile again, and no longer stared around in a daze.

Two weeks later, Gryffindor played Slytherin at Quidditch. Harry and James were both there. Margaret and Victoria were chasers for Gryffindor, and Sean Abercrombie was the Seeker. It was an exciting match, and emotions ran high as Slytherin's game became dirtier, and Gryffindor responded by becoming more and more rough.

No-one was badly hurt though, and Harry was on his feet, shouting his support as the two Seekers dived, Abercrombie finally rising again holding the snitch aloft, as the Slytherin Seeker tumbled over and over on the turf.

It was only later that Harry realised that his pain was finally beginning to dull. He had not thought of his lost wife for the past two hours.

It was going to take a long time yet. A month after the Quidditch match, he was playing on his broomstick, finding consolation in speed, and he hurtled toward the ground in a dive, as he had done so often before, enjoying the tremendous speed he could attain. He would always pull up at the last possible moment, in absolute joy of life. But this time he felt a sudden compelling temptation not to pull up at all, to obliterate himself on the ground, and he had to make an effort to see sense.

He wound up pulling up rather untidily a long way short of the ground, staring down in consternation. What would his children do if they lost their father as well? He knew why he had been tempted. There had been a time when he was very near death, and he had seen his parents waiting for him, and the great black dog that was Sirius Black, who had cared for him too. And somewhere inside him was a conviction that he only had to cross that line that was death, and Ginny would be there.

***chapter end***


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 5:_

Time passed. Harry resumed the habit of his single years, a constant stream of muggle girlfriends who satisfied the need for sex, but would never again seem anything more than a pale shadow of the lovemaking that he had enjoyed with his wife.

James knew that he was often out. Harry had always been a highly sexual being, and James resented what he saw as his father's infidelity to his lost mother.

The girls were different. They were fully involved with their life at Hogwarts, and they, themselves, although only fifteen, had become sexually active. One lunch time, Harry went for a walk in the Forbidden Forest, where he was usually certain of solitude. But in a grassy gap between the trees, there was a scene that surprised him. The girl's vivid red hair was visible, but her face was hidden. Beneath the cape that was spread over the couple, the movements were unmistakable.

Harry stepped back, out of sight. There were dangerous creatures in the Forbidden Forest, and he kept watch for his daughter and for the boy, whose identity he didn't know. Quietly, out of sight, he waited, aware of the couple sufficiently that he could be sure that they were not in danger, but giving them their privacy. At last, Margaret and Sean rose, smiling at each other, and still kissing, holding hands, they left the forest together.

Harry Potter was concerned. Julia had started having sex very young, but Julia was different. Margaret seemed like a child to him. There was another reason for worry. The Forbidden Forest was not a place to forget about being alert. It was a dangerous place, and Meg and Sean had not been taking care. When he bumped into the twins and Gemme in the corridor later, he called Margaret aside, and asked her to come see him in his office at the end of lessons. Many teenagers would have been thoroughly nervous, but Margaret saw nothing to be nervous about. She had always got on well with her father.

When Margaret knocked on her father's door, Vicky and Gemme waited for her outside. They had a certain project in mind for the evening.

Inside, Harry had taken a leaf out of Dumbledore's book, and Amelia Bones, too. They always gave him good things to eat when they wanted to stray onto dangerous ground, and Harry knew that it was often effective. But he was having a hard time starting, and instead asked about her studies, and congratulated his daughter again on her skill at Quidditch.

Meg humoured her strange father for a bit, but finally she thought he should come to the point. "What is it, Dad?" she asked.

Harry looked out the window, and finally blurted, "You shouldn't have sex in the Forbidden Forest! It's dangerous in there!"

Margaret was quiet for a moment, it was obvious that he had seen them. "Where should I have sex then?" she asked quietly.

Harry protested, "You're only fifteen. Surely you shouldn't be having sex at all! What would your mother say?"

"Mum started at fifteen, she told me once."

"Did she?" said Harry in blank astonishment, "I didn't know that."

"Anyhow, when did you start having sex, Dad?"

"Me? I was nearly eighteen!"

His daughter laughed, and said, "Oh yes, I've heard the story, you had to lose your virginity before you died, and you were supposed to be dying before your eighteenth birthday."

Harry Potter half grinned and reddened, "That's irrelevant. It's just too dangerous in the Forbidden Forest when you're not paying attention."

But Margaret said, "It's OK, Dad. Petreea would warn us if there were any danger close."

"Who's Petreea?"

"She's a centaur. We met her a long time ago, and she keeps an eye out for us."

Harry was staring at his daughter in surprise and in respect. Just how many times had they gone into the Forbidden Forest? "I didn't see any centaur close."

"You wouldn't, she doesn't like men." Then Margaret really showed her colours. "It's uncomfortable on the ground, and I'd like to learn to conjure a thin mattress. You could teach me!"

Harry stared at her, suddenly bursting into the first genuine laughter that had been heard from him since Ginny died. He had called his daughter in to rebuke her for dangerous behaviour and for underage sex, and not only had she demolished his arguments, she was coolly asking him to help her conjure a mattress to make the underage sex more comfortable. "All right. Find out the incantation, and come back tomorrow same time, and I'll show you."

The following day, Gemme, Margaret and Victoria all turned up at his office, with a list of incantations. They wanted to learn to conjure a mattress, pillow, and blankets.

Albus Dumbledore passed the open door not long after, and heard the hilarity as the girls practised their conjuring. It was a skill not normally taught to fifth years, but all three of Harry's redheads were very talented, and made quick progress. From then on, their underage sex was a lot more comfortable.

**xx**

Summer holidays came again. The girls had achieved well in their OWLs, and no doubt might have gained even more marks if they had been asked to conjure mattresses and pillows!

A week into summer holidays, a phone call came for Harry. "Please collect your dammed stallion," his neighbour told him. He's just cost me a stud fee, and the mare's owner is going to be furious."

Sheba's brown colt was obviously growing up, and had also apparently inherited his mother's ability to jump high fences! Harry whistled up Toby, jumped easily onto his bare back, and set off for Max's place. He had been friends with Max for years now, but Max was not at all happy with him this day! He had named the colt Tambo, and Tambo was now grazing in a paddock, keeping very close to a chestnut mare with a small foal at foot. And Tambo didn't want to leave her. The mare was in season, and even Harry was not going to take him away.

Harry never usually forced anything on his horses, but this time was different. The mare's owner had paid for a service by Max's high priced thoroughbred stallion, not his neighbour's half bred colt, out of a mare notorious for her wildness. And it appeared certain from the horses' behaviour that this mare had already been serviced. The harm was done. Harry had been meaning to geld the colt for a long time, but had never quite got around to it. He was a bit reluctant anyway, it seemed a bit mean. And then Ginny died, and things had been let go a bit.

Max and Harry leaned against the fence. Stallions can be dangerous when interfered with, although Harry was not really concerned. He didn't believe that Tambo would harm him, although he might easily harm Max or his employees. Harry finally said, "Um, Max - how about I just use a bit of magic to geld him now, and at least he won't get at any of the other mares."

Max knew that Harry was a wizard, but had never seen any evidence of it aside from having a few times seen him in company with wizards. He stared at him, not really knowing what to say, and tried not to look as Harry checked around to make sure that no-one else was in sight, and then drew his wand and pointed it at the horse.

Tambo looked up and stamped his foot. Tambo had just lost some equipment that he had been enjoying using for the first time in his life. Harry was sorry for him. Tambo had suffered no pain, and still stayed very close to the mare, not really realising that things had changed for him.

Max was not convinced that Tambo had truly been gelded until Harry walked with him a lot closer, and he could make a visual inspection. "Certainly easier than the normal way," he commented, as Harry petted his horse, and then stroked the mare, touching her flank, staring into the distance as he concentrated.

"Can you tell?" asked Max.

"I can't tell, but I think probably."

Max sighed, "I'll have to tell the owner."

"How can I compensate?" Harry asked. Max was no longer angry, and they went back to the house, for coffee and a morning tea.

"How are you getting on?" asked Max a bit later, as they sat drinking coffee. He had been very fond of Ginny, and had felt the love between Ginny and her husband.

Harry didn't pretend to misunderstand. "When I was supposed to be dying, Ginny was able to face it. She was braver than I am I daresay one day I'll get used to it."

Tambo was left with his girlfriend for a few days, as he was not going to do any more harm, and then Harry rode over again, and collected him. Victoria came with him, riding Seawind. Seawind, although white with age, was a comfortable ride, with an easy, long stride. Max had described the horse as a 'pathetic old crock' when Harry had first decided to buy him, but Harry had said then that he had a fellow feeling for the horse, and he had been so thin and frail himself at the time that it was easy to see why. But now Harry whistled up Tambo, who could no longer remember why he wanted to stay with the mare, and leapt easily onto his bare back. Max was looking at his neighbour with pleasure. It was good to see vigour restored.

The mare was confirmed in foal, and the owner of the mare wanted to come and see Harry's horses. The stud fee had been returned and compensation paid. Harry had paid Max, too. It was only fair. Stallions need to be kept under control, and Harry had been careless.

The mare's owner was undecided. The mare could have the embryo aborted, and another attempt made to get her in foal with the chosen stallion, but according to Max, his neighbour's colt was a good horse, too. A time was arranged, and Gail Hutchinson came to see Harry and his horses.

James joined them as they sat on some benches next to the horse paddock. Harry casually put an affectionate arm around him, but James twisted away. James was not liking his father much at the moment.

Harry whistled up Sheba, who came to him, her newest foal at her heels, and Tambo, the dark brown gelding. Gail said that Sheba was supposed to be dangerous, but Harry said that he suspected ill treatment at some stage. Gail approached Sheba, and petted her, looking over her, feeling and seeing her conformation. Sheba looked uncertain. Since Harry had bought her, she had never been handled by strangers. But she made no move to bite or kick, and when Harry told Gail how high she could jump, Gail decided to allow her mare to continue with the pregnancy. The foal might make a show jumper. Gail had seen the high fences of Max's paddocks, and the colt had apparently not had any trouble with those!

From then on, Sheba's colt foals were attended to when they were a lot younger. The magical intervention was painless, although the geldings always sulked for a few days. They seemed to know that they had been deprived of something important.

Tambo, no longer interested in mares, became Harry's favourite ride. He had the athleticism of his mother, and the height of his father, Max's thoroughbred stallion. Harry visited Gail Hutchinson quite often from then on, too. Gail was a widow of his own age, and lived close enough that he could ride one of his horses over. He never had learned to drive a car with any safety.

Harry was trying to avoid going out in the evening, James was so disapproving!

**xx**

Another year passed, the girls came home for their holidays, and it was time for James to be provided with his uniform, books and equipment for Hogwarts. He already had a wand, although Mr. Ollivander had been a touch disapproving when an eight year old was given a proper wand. He did not refuse the sale though, of course.

James had been put temporarily in Gryffindor when he had spent a few days at Hogwarts just before his mother died, but now the Sorting Hat, after quite a long delay, announced "Ravenclaw."

Albus Dumbledore blinked in surprise. He had fully expected another Gryffindor.

Harry, though, thought that the hat knew its business. It was not that James was lacking in courage, rather that his primary motivation seemed always to have been to use his brain. Harry had now had children in Slytherin, Gryffindor and in Ravenclaw. He said to Severus later, that he only needed one more to go into Hufflepuff, and he'd have the full set!

Professor McGonnagal had still not resigned. She said it was too much fun waiting to see what Margaret and Victoria Potter, along with Gemme Dursley, would do next. James was not to be such a problem for her; nor such an amusement. James was quiet, studious, and made no trouble for his House Master, young Professor Bagshott.

Harry had a lot more freedom now that there were no children left at home to be disapproving when he went out at night. Gail was getting tired of him, so he looked further afield. He was now forty-seven, and maybe Hermione was correct in her surmise. He remained fit and well, and showed no further sign of ageing since the illness that had left him with the hollow cheeks. He still refused her frequent suggestions that he have annual checkups, and Ginny was not around to give him his orders!

He was restless these days. He went out almost every evening, often getting into muggle fights, and turning up in the morning walking stiffly, or with a black eye. Nearly every evening, he would be with a woman, as always never offering commitment, but treating them with utmost consideration, and repaying them for their company with his own expert love-making, and quite often with some exotic gift from a foreign land. He tended to go back afterwards to Hogwarts rather than to his home, the absence of Ginny was less noticeable at Hogwarts.

One traumatic day, he finally went though her things, vanishing all the clothing, and putting away her possessions. It had taken this long.

One morning, Albus Dumbledore watched him as he came into the Hall for lunch. He had a bruise on his face and walked with a limp. He'd had taken on three men the previous night, and although he had beaten them, he was not unscathed. He never felt that it was a fight if he was untouched. He was too good these days for just one opponent, but he had learned how to get what he wanted. All he had to do was to leave his cape on, and stroll around the streets late at night, until some group of goons decided to start calling, 'Queer!' or 'Faggot!' He tried to avoid taking on too many, and he prudently started putting a charm on his opponents' boots - if they kicked a human with one of those charmed boots, then the boot would vanish. That way he was unlikely to be kicked to death, or even badly injured.

The Ministry of Magic knew of his risky behaviour, and as they still regarded him as their prize possession, they attempted to protect him from himself. Harry didn't like aurors following him, and was very quick to notice they were there. But it was easy just to disapparate, and try again a suburb or two away. There were still a few times when the Ministry's liaison with local muggle police meant that aurors were there in time to witness his fights. Not that the muggles knew who they were instructed to liaise with, of course. And Harry still fought with a fierce grin on his face, and he still found it an utmost satisfaction to extend himself without restraint.

The aurors were able to report that he was extremely fast, and apparently perfectly strong and fit, although he never obliged them by allowing himself to be knocked out so that a healer could have a closer look at him.

There were still occasional attempts to kill him, but now he was less likely to allow the possibility of sudden death to deter him from doing what he wanted. He relied on his speed, choosing to forget what he had always said - he could win a hundred times, but he only had to be beaten once!

Now that James was at Hogwarts, Dumbledore asked Harry whether he would be willing to live in again, at least during term time. It was always good to have teachers living in, although married teachers usually only came in for the day, as Harry had when Ginny was still alive. He missed Ginny more in his own home, his staff was efficient, and could do perfectly well without him, so he agreed.

Dumbledore was able to keep a closer watch on his friend after that, as his behaviour became more erratic.

It was a distinct advantage for the school. Harry often slept badly, and would dress and prowl the corridors at night. He could prevent any serious or dangerous mischief, and knew a great deal of what went on in the secret small hours, although he hardly ever interfered, or even made his presence known.

He'd long since dropped the studies he'd once pursued with Dumbledore. He had done less once he married Ginny, and then for a time, he had been too sick to do anything much at all. The only thing he did now was to make sporadic attempts to find books that might help him with his spell-breaking sessions. There was a list of fifteen patients now that he had failed, including the Pumpkin-head. But it seemed no such helpful books existed.

As a matter of routine, Harry called in on his home every Wednesday after his spell-breaking session, to check in with his secretary, and attend to any matters that were needed. But Margaret Brown really was a gem, and Bill Forrester looked after the outside affairs of the estate, with no problems at all.

Harry had quite a large staff, including the extra security staff that he had hired when he had been so frantic with worry prior to Ginny's death. His employees were proud to serve Harry Potter, and as Harry would not dismiss an employee without good reason, Bill tended to reassign his appointments as needed. Security staff now tended gardens, fixed fences, fed the sheep, or mucked out stables as needed. One of Harry's most contented employees was a man called John, onetime nursing assistant. John was a squib, and had lived with fear and a feeling of disgrace in the wizarding world. Now he was married to a muggle, had a small house on the estate, and had two young sons running around and beginning to take a close interest in the horses.

Harry's employees all tended to be very loyal, most of them idolising him. Harry knew them all by first name, and never acted as if his employees, muggle, squib or wizard, were any less than he was himself. He did ask one thing of his employees - his affairs were not to be spoken of, and his muggle employees, especially, should not talk of magic or wizards to anyone outside. This provision was very well observed.

Two more years went by. Harry's daughters, and his niece Gemme, left school with excellent results, and surprised Harry by setting up a small primary school in London, for witches and wizards. He had expected them to go fight dragons, or something equally dangerous. When they were a lot younger, all three of them had announced that they were going to be aurors. Harry was relieved that they had not continued with that ambition. He would have hated having his own daughters and niece keeping an eye on him!

Margaret and Victoria had achieved one long-term ambition, they still played Quidditch. And Harry threw aside prudence, and could be seen barracking on their team at every match. It was a headache for Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had the job of protecting Harry, and as Harry still refused to cooperate with him, he had to not only assign aurors, but the aurors had first to find him before they could protect him!

James did well at school. He continued very studious, and was not interested in Quidditch. If James had not so much physically resembled his own father, and to a lesser extent, himself, Harry would have thought him a changeling. He was getting on better with James now that his evening activities were less obvious to the boy. But if he appeared with a black eye, he could feel the disapproving eyes of his son on him, so started going to Poppy more often for treatment, preferring her lecture to the judgmental eyes of his son!

***chapter end***


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. _.

_Warning__: In this story, there are mentions of male/male sex including rape._

_Chapter 6_:

Andrew Smith-Burton, the Sixth, had originally become obsessed with Harry Potter many years before. There was a room in his house, its walls covered with large pictures of Harry Potter. The biggest one was the one he had started with, a life-size poster of Harry in his prime, and fighting. His wand was raised, his scar blazing, his cloak still swung as he had whirled around. He had just killed, and looked about to kill again.

There were others, one of Harry as a youth, rather small and thin, leaning against a wall, eyes flicking around warily. There was one of him in a wheelchair, so thin that his face resembled a skull, but the eyes were alert and glittering. There was one of him cradling his dead daughter Julia in his arms, his face wet with tears. And there was a poster-sized black and white muggle photograph too, quite recent. Harry Potter had a fierce grin on his face as he threw a punch that had knocked down a large young thug on the streets of London.

Andrew Smith-Burton, the Sixth, dreamed and fantasised. Harry Potter was the most powerful wizard in the world, and Andrew Smith-Burton wanted to use the body of the most powerful wizard in the world. He wanted Harry Potter prone and defenceless beneath him. Smith-Burton had his boys, bought and paid for, and there were a few like-minded friends. But Andrew Smith-Burton was not a simple homosexual. His desires were interwoven with the desire to hurt what he loved. Some of the boys he bought were never quite the same afterward, although none had died.

He had a close friend of several years, who lived with him, always just called 'Griff,' who shared the tastes of Smith-Burton, although with a little more of roughness and a lot less of subtlety. But it was when a young man with political ambitions joined forces with Smith-Burton that Harry Potter's freedom and health were really threatened.

A plan was hatched. Smith-Burton's motives were sexual and deviant, but the motives of the young man were very different. He thought that Harry Potter stood in his way to political power, that even though Harry did not seem to be pursuing direct involvement in politics, his mere presence and influence were important factors that might prevent himself achieving his ultimate goal.

This young man wanted Harry Potter ruined in the eyes of the world, his influence lost. But his father spoke of Harry with considerable respect, and previous hints of helping a certain friend dispose of Potter by assassination, were met with disapproval. Potter deserved life, his father said. He had been very sick more than once, he had survived countless attempts to kill him - he deserved to be allowed to live now. The son listened to his father, and decided that Potter need not die.

Smith-Burton wanted to sodomise Harry Potter, the other wanted pictures of Harry Potter being sodomised, in order to bring about his destruction in the eyes of the world. And wizards from two wealthy, ancient, pure-bred families united to destroy a fine man.

The young one carefully instructed Smith-Burton in the use of muggle video cameras, and in the use of muggle tranquillisers, provided him with a supply of a Docility Potion that was widely used when insane wizards were violent, and waited for Smith-Burton to organise a staff and a house where his victim was to be taken.

Smith-Burton found a wizard with healing experience, who had been discredited, and no longer had a license to practise healing. He enlisted four wizards who were willing to act as gaolers. The house was in France, close to the coast. A competent wizard would have no trouble apparating that far, and two of the gaolers were able to apparate with a passenger - the most convenient method of travelling.

When Smith-Burton was ready, his partner waited an opportunity. It took three months, but the opportunity came. Harry Potter was not cautious enough these days, and the unconscious man was efficiently delivered to Smith-Burton at his house in France. His partner took no further part in the enterprise then, except to collate and edit the video films that were supplied to him daily. He did his best to remain totally anonymous, and never went near the dangerous wizard whom his father spoke of with such respect.

The video film began with a shot of a caped wizard lying on the floor. A smooth voice, with an occasional gravel quality, began its narration_. 'This is Harry Potter.' _And a large masked man, went down on his knees, and raised the head, displaying the face. The eyes were shut, but the picture was clear. _'The famous scar.'_ And the hair was brushed away from the forehead, and the lightning shaped scar displayed. _'The scar on the cheek.'_ And the face was rolled to display the left hand cheek where another old scar showed white.

_ 'Harry Potter is the most powerful wizard in the world, and I am going to use him for my pleasure. But first he must be weakened. And first he must be trained to take potions to induce docility, and to keep him unconscious or barely conscious, until he can no longer resist, or does not want to resist. I am going to have his body, but if things go the way I want, he will soon be enjoying the act as much as I do.' _

The masked wizard was seen then to start undressing Harry, undoing his shirt, and caressing the chest, and then undoing the trousers, to expose the genitals. He leaned forward and ran a tongue down the penis. But he started fumbling with the trousers again, pulling them down, especially on one side until a voice was half heard in the background.

He backed off then, and a smaller man took his place. There was a scalpel in his hand. Fingers felt carefully for the femoral artery in the groin, and the scalpel was pushed in until blood spurted. Harry was rolled onto his side, and was allowed to bleed onto the floor.

After a short time, the camera scanned his face, it was beginning to look very pale, and the camera went back to show the spreading pool of blood on the floor. Another wizard came to hold the body, as the one who had cut the artery felt for the pulse in the neck. The blood was flowing fast, pulsing in spurts, until it was deemed to be sufficient. A wand was waved, the blood flow ceased, and the small wound was healed.

Clothes were done up again, and Harry was lifted to a high bed in the middle of the room. The camera slowly scanned his face, now very pale.

The voice spoke again. _'He has been weakened by loss of blood. Now we will feed him the Docility Potion.'_

The large wizard raised Harry, and they started trying to make him swallow the potion. At first, it only ran out of his mouth, but they persisted. One pinched his nose shut, so that he would open his mouth, but Harry was coming out of his unconscious state, and twisted and fought, falling from the bed, and trying to hit out. He was on all fours on the floor, trying to raise himself, eyes slitted, trying to focus, trying to work out what was going on. There was some alarm then, and his arm was grabbed and injected with the muggle tranquilliser. Harry had got to his feet now, and was holding onto the bed, swaying, looking around, trying desperately to see. They had taken his glasses, and he would afterwards retain only a memory of blurred and faceless wizards surrounding him.

But the tranquilliser was working now, or maybe it was only a faint caused by loss of blood. He was again unconscious, and was lifted back onto the bed.

_'Day two. We have not so far managed to induce Harry to take any Potion. Today, more drastic measures will be used. Even though unconscious, conditioning is likely to work. Some awareness is always retained.' _

The unconscious man was seen raised in a pair of strong arms, his head sagging to the side. The voice that had been doing the narration spoke now in a loud, clear voice, clearly audible on the video clip. _'Harry, we're going to give you some Potion now. If you don't take it, I'm going to hurt you!'_ And repeating, _'Take the Potion, or I will hurt you!'_

The glass of Potion was put to Harry's lips, but as he had before, Harry turned his head away. This time, though, they didn't persist.

_ 'When you refuse the Potion, I hurt you!'_ was said again, in a loud, clear voice. And the word of a cruel spell was uttered, and Harry's body jerked and spasmed in agony. The wizard lifted his wand, and the body relaxed, but the head was moving blindly, searching for consciousness.

_'Take the Potion, or I will hurt you again!'_ Again a glass was put to his lips.

Harry still resisted, and his eyes were beginning to open, although glazed.

_'When you refuse the Potion, I hurt you!'_ and again Harry's body jerked and spasmed in agony. _'Take the Potion!'_

Harry twisted, and cried suddenly, _'No!'_ The glass of Potion shattered. Swift action was taken then, Harry's eyes were slitted, and he looked like he was beginning to be far too much aware of what was happening. Before he could take any further action, he was stunned and more tranquilliser injected.

_'Day four. Harry has managed to resist taking any potion, although we tried again yesterday, using the Cruciatus Curse to punish his disobedience. He also refuses to take any nourishment, although he has taken a little water. Accordingly, we have persevered with muggle tranquilliser, which is easier to administer.' _

The voice changed slightly, softening_. 'He has been kept unconscious for four days now. He has not been washed at any stage, or his clothes changed. He now smells quite bad.' _And softly, feelingly, _'I can't wait to have him.'_

Harry's arm was bare, his shirt sleeve cut away. A new injection was given. _'He's now had a double dose of tranquilliser. He is entirely helpless, totally at my mercy!' _

The camera scanned over the body, lying on the bed. The picture dissolved, and then came clear again. Now Harry was naked, and a wet sponge was passing over the body. The voice took on an intimate, caressing tone. _'Poor Harry. He smells of old blood and sweat And he smells of urine and faeces.'_

There was the instruction to the large man, _'Turn him.'_

Other arms appeared, and Harry was turned face down. The sponge reappeared. _'Beautiful muscles, lovely shoulders,' _in a gentle tone of admiration, and then the bottom was tenderly bathed.

_'Like the bottom of a small boy, all pooey.'_ The tone was of tender wonder, and a bare hand gently stroked a buttock.

_'He's already getting thinner. Of course he's had no food for four days now.' _

An indistinct instruction was heard and other hands reappeared. The naked body was rolled onto the side, and the wet plastic sheet underneath was removed. Towels were used to dry him, and he was turned so that he was face up again. The face was pale still, eyes closed, head rolled half to the side.

The washing was finished, and the love-making began. Hands admired the muscles of his chest, and a head leaned over Harry's face, kissing his mouth. The hands wandered down the body, down his chest, caressing his flanks, and then exploring and touching the genitals.

_'Look, he responds!'_ the voice said in a tone of delight as the penis stiffened slightly.

But the hands froze, and the camera returned to the face, as a groan escaped the unconscious man and a frown appeared. The hands were quickly withdrawn, and instructions were given, over-ruling some brief argument. Another injection was prepared and administered.

_'They say that this is an overdose. Three doses in a short time may kill him. But this is a dangerous man. And he doesn't yet know the pleasures that I'm going to teach him.'_

The naked man was turned over on the bed then, onto his face, and the caressing hands reappeared, feeling and admiring the strong shoulders, the well muscled arms. Fingers followed an old scar that ran down the ribs. The face of the wizard was never seen, but his back bent over the body, and it could be guessed that he was running his tongue along the line of that same old scar. Harry showed no further signs of returning consciousness, and the hands moved down, feeling, pinching, and gently manipulating the buttocks.

The wizard said nothing further for a few minutes, but his uneven breathing could be heard, betraying his excitement. Quite suddenly, he stepped back. _'Do you want to have him first?'_

He was apparently addressing the large man who had helped move Harry whenever requested, and a fervent, _'Yeah!'_ was breathed. The tone was one of fierce joy.

Harry was quickly and roughly turned on the bed, his legs dropping down the side, his upper body still prone. He was tending to slide off in this posture, and a wand was seen briefly, and ropes appeared around his wrists. One of the wizards tied them to the other side of the bed, and Harry Potter was naked and helpless as Smith-Burton had wanted.

But it was his friend, Griff, who now moved forward, breathing hoarsely in his excitement, stepping out of his pants and trousers, as he approached Harry Potter. The camera scanned the large erection that he was displaying.

_'Lube?'_ asked a voice, and Griff took some lubricant gell, and smeared some on his erect penis, and more on and into the anus of his victim. He wiped his fingers on the bed and moved forward, trying to push his erect penis into the man that lay utterly helpless across the side of the bed in front of him.

Something wasn't working. The excitement was dying, and puzzlement took its place.

Griff backed off, and looked down at himself. He had had a large erection. But now only a nub was left. The still hard penis was no more than a half-inch long!

Griff gave a scream of shock and dismay! _'What's happened? What's he done? What's he done to me?'_

_'It's all right. Don't worry, I'll fix it for you in just a moment,'_ said the voice that had been doing the narration, although it sounded rather strained too.

The camera was still fixed on the abruptly shortened penis, but then returned to show the face of Harry Potter, still apparently totally unconscious, unmoving, eyes closed, helpless.

The scene faded. When the picture resumed, Harry Potter had been dressed again in the same filthy clothes, and was lying on the bed, with ropes still around his wrists. The narration resumed. The voice was of the same man, but the tone had changed.

_'Harry Potter has damaged my friend. I have been quite unable to undo the terrible damage inflicted. I am going to allow Harry Potter to get the punishment he deserves.' _

The picture faded again, and when it resumed, Harry lay on the floor, still clothed, and not looking a great deal different, except somehow rather flattened, and with a bruised face. A hand appeared, raising an arm, which bent where it should not bend.

_'Day five,'_ Harry still lay on the floor, fully clothed, unmoving.

_'Day six,'_ and one of the wrists was in a slightly different position.

_'Day seven.'_ It looked like the camera may have been left in position, as the picture was taken from exactly the same position. Only the still body was seen in the room, apparently unattended. The camera was not close to the face, but some movement was visible, and the dim light suddenly reflected on open eyes. And the body silently vanished.

Harry was aware. In his injured state, his gaolers had become just careless enough that he was able to wake sufficiently to disapparate. Or maybe he was developing a tolerance to the tranquilliser that had been administered to him non-stop for the past week. He was feeling the cold dew on his face, and there was grass, and he knew that he was free.

But he was terribly injured, and only waited patiently, either to die or to be rescued. For the moment, it was enough just to be free. After a while, it started to rain. He was very cold.

_'Day eight.'_ The voice was strained. _'Harry Potter appears to have been somehow rescued. There is an anti-disapparation charm on this room, and he has too many broken bones to move himself about. The grounds are being searched just in case.'_

A new picture appeared. The picture was rather jerky, as the camera was now handheld. A crumpled figure was shown lying on some grass. He was not approached, but one of the wizards, standing well back, sent a stream of red light at his back. Harry Potter had been hit with a stunner, even before they checked whether he was dead or alive.

_'We think he must have disapparated, in spite of the charm. But he was too weak to do it properly, and only succeeded in moving himself to the back lawn.' _

The camera showed the large man, masked again, pick Harry up in his arms. The body sagged, and arms and legs were bending in places where arms and legs are not supposed to bend.

The narrator spoke again, _'He is being healed,'_ and a masked wizard was shown, using his wand to heal broken bones - many broken bones. It appeared that Harry was back in the same room he had been in before, this time he had been put on the bed.

_'Day nine.' _The camera scanned slowly over Harry's face. He was lying on the bed, and tears ran slowly from the closed eyes. The voice of the narrator spoke tenderly to him, and gentle fingers touched the wet face, _'Tears, Harry?'_

The eyes opened, the body tensed, but before he could take any other action, a stun spell was used to banish the beginning awareness.

The picture dissolved, and opened again on what appeared to be pink roses, or maybe a picture of pink roses.

The voice of the narration resumed. _'Harry is beginning to react to my voice, my touch, differently to that of the others. Maybe he knows that I love him. I still want him. Maybe soon, I'll try again. My poor, damaged friend won't come near him. Harry is very weak, half starved, also dehydrated, as he often refuses even water. He is near death, but I have decided that I want him to live, at least for a while longer. There are to be no more attempts to make him take Potions. To keep him alive, we have to persuade him to take food and water. Therefore a female voice has been recorded and I have some new information that may help. One thing that I have confirmed is that he has the ability to ignore anti-disapparation charms. We have to keep him more deeply unconscious. But he may be developing a tolerance to the muggle tranquilliser. The dose has already been increased significantly, and he still manages somehow to rouse himself at my voice.'_

The picture opened again. Harry lay quietly on his bed. Music gently played in the background, and a female voice was talking. _'You have to eat, Harry. You have to drink, Harry. Trust me, Harry. I will look after you.'_ The message was repeated, to an accompaniment of gentle music. The camera briefly showed a tape recorder sitting on a table. None of the wizards present spoke at all.

Harry was raised in someone's arms, but they were not that of the large wizard who'd been maimed. A bowl of what appeared to be ice-cream was held, and a spoon was put very gently to Harry's lips. Still no word was spoken, but the female voice continued with the gentle message, and Harry opened his mouth and he was fed the ice-cream.

After the second swallow, his head turned, eyes still shut, blindly searching, and he breathed in a yearning tone, _'Ginny!'_

No answer was given him, just the message playing over and over, and he was fed more ice-cream, and then some water, choking over it a little, but his eyes were beginning to open again, and an injection was administered. They lay him gently down, and the eyes closed.

_'Day twelve.'_ The pink roses were shown again. _'Harry is stronger. He is taking some food now, and taking water without trouble. We are still taking care not to speak in his presence, as he appears to react so much better when only the female voice is heard. As soon as he is a little stronger, I want to do more with him. He is my toy! He is here for my pleasure!'_

The picture of the pink roses dissolved, and the picture of Harry was shown. He still lay on the bed, still in the same clothes. There was no indication that he had been washed or shaved since the attempted sodomy.

At Hogwarts, Professor Albus Dumbledore received a package containing a video, with a note attached. The writing on it was ornate, but very brief. _Where is Harry Potter?_ it said. Dumbledore had immense wisdom and knowledge, but he had never seen a muggle video before, and it took a while to consult, and to obtain a video player, and then to find out how to work it without showing anyone why it was needed.

Amelia Bones, Minister for Magic, received an identical package. The Ministry had been combing the country for their pet wizard, and now they wasted no time. Within half an hour, she and Kingsley Shacklebolt were ready to watch.

The video was brief. The segments used were those taken in the first days of Harry's capture. The initial clear identification was shown, and the blood letting, including the scene of a lick of the penis, showing very clearly the nature of his captivity. And then there was a short segment showing torture. The words of the spell, _'Crucio,'_ barely heard on the video, and Harry's body jerking and shuddering as the spell caused intolerable pain. But the man appeared unconscious, and it was hard to know just how much he felt, and how much was just his bodily reaction to the spell of pain. There were no screams.

That night, on muggle television, there was a picture of Harry Potter, a photograph taken some time before, with advice that he had been kidnapped, and a hotline to ring, if anyone had any information.

Albus Dumbledore was desperately concerned for his friend, and looked older by the day. Severus Snape had become so fierce that even his Slytherin students scarcely dared speak to him.

The videos were kept very private. Only Albus and Severus had seen the one that was sent to Hogwarts, and only Amelia and Kingsley had seen the one that was sent to the Ministry. Harry's friends were worried, but not as utterly distressed as they would have been if they had known more. His children were silent or tearful as their natures dictated.

The master video continued being made, updates being added and edited daily.

_'Day fourteen.'_ No other commentary was made, just the quiet _'Day fourteen.'_ Gentle fingers moved over Harry's face, shaving off two weeks of beard growth, and his face was tenderly sponged, once it was done. His filthy clothes remained.

_'Day fifteen.'_ The pink roses were seen. _'A wizard will be standing by to stun him in case he starts to wake. I just want to touch his body, and feel. He is still too dangerous to make love the way I so much want!'_

The picture faded, and started again. No voices were heard, just some gentle music playing in the background. His shirt was opened, slowly and deliberately, drawing out the pleasure. Hands ran over his body, exploring, feeling. Harry was looking distinctly thinner than he had been, every rib showing. A man's back was shown, leaning over his chest. He appeared to be running his tongue over the body, tracing the lines of his ribs, and tasting old sweat.

A hand went to the zip of his trousers, ignoring the wetness of the area, and the dark bloodstains on the side. Harry was no longer wearing underpants, and the caressing hands started touching and exploring the genitals, but were suddenly withdrawn with a yelp of pain.

The camera quickly scanned to the Harry's face, which showed a slight frown, but no other indication of returning consciousness.

Smith-Burton barked, _'Dress him!'_ at a nearby wizard, and the picture faded.

_'Day sixteen. He burned my hands yesterday. So now I'm going to get my pleasure from him in a different way. And it's an interesting experiment. How much can he hear, feel? I'm going to get him conditioned so that he reacts to a particular piece of music as though he were being tortured.'_

As always, Harry lay inert on the bed. A masked wizard was close, wand in hand. The crashing chords of a piece of classical music was heard, the wand pointed, and suddenly Harry's body jerked and shuddered in the extremes of agony.

The music stopped, the torture ceased. _'We wait ten minutes.'_

The picture briefly faded, then resumed from a slightly different angle. The music recommenced, and so did the torture.

_'We wait twenty minutes,'_ and the cruelty was repeated.

_'Day eighteen. Harry Potter was tortured again yesterday to the sound of Tchaikovski. Today, we do it twice more, and then see what happens if he gets the music without the spell. We can't do this much longer, though. He will not eat, and is barely taking enough water to stay alive.'_

The picture returned to Harry lying on his bed. His face was haggard, and white. His hair was matted and dirty. He still wore the same clothing that he had worn from the very beginning. The picture faded in and out twice. There was no commentary, but twice Harry was subjected to the terrible Cruciatus Curse. And then there was a pause.

Music suddenly crashed into the room, and Harry's body again shuddered, and he was moving on the bed, twisting his head. His eyes were opening, though, and he was quickly stunned by his gaolers.

_'It works! He obviously felt the pain, even though this time it was only the music. He was returning to consciousness, though, and it appears it might be too dangerous to do it again. But we'll use the torture with the music again tomorrow, just to fix it permanently in his mind. If he survives this imprisonment, it might make a good party trick! Play the music, and watch Harry Potter react!' _

_'Day twenty.'_ The picture of pink roses was seen. This appeared to be used whenever they didn't want Harry to have any chance of hearing the commentary. His gaolers were still treating Harry as potential dynamite.

_'In a short time, Harry Potter is to be displayed to the world. If we keep him here, he will die soon, anyway. But I have decided I am going to use him the way I want to use him. I will take all the precautions I can think of, but I want him so much that I'm willing to risk being killed or maimed. Maybe it will even add some extra excitement. But the love-making will be very quick. There will be no warning that might allow him time to pull himself out of his unconscious state. No word will be uttered by a male voice within the room, we just have gentle music playing. He has already been given the maximum dose of tranquilliser we dare, and he'll be stunned for good measure. And I am also going to break his leg again, and displace it. If he does start to wake, he will be aware only of the pain in his leg, so that what else he feels becomes trivial to him. Unfortunately, no-one is willing to do the camera, so we won't have good close-ups. They are all too frightened of a possible reaction from Harry. The pictures will be only from the fixed camera.'_

The picture opened again. It was from a distance, the same angle that was familiar from other days. Harry was lying on his bed, still fully clothed. Although unconscious already, the stun spell was used on him, and then without delay, he was pulled into position lying over the edge of the high bed, and his wrists tied. A wand was aimed at his left leg, then, and used to break the leg. A kick pushed it out of position. Awake, it would have to be agony, but Harry appeared to be totally unconscious.

A masked wizard was behind him, his back to the camera, Harry was bent over the bed. Two sets of trousers were dropped to the floor, and Harry Potter was sodomised, the motions of sex seeming to continue a long time. Harry's face was not visible, but there was no motion, no sound from him. The man finally withdrew, drawing a ragged breath that could be heard on the video clip.

The masked wizard stepped back, and then the picture suddenly changed. It became more shaky, as the camera was now hand held. The shot zoomed in. Harry's robe and shirt tails were pushed up, trousers on the floor.

The wizard spoke. _'This is how Harry Potter will be returned to his friends. Smears of semen around his anus - and look, how perfect! There is blood! He has the marks of his virginity still on him!'_

The camera still rolled, as the broken leg was pulled back straight, and quickly healed with a spell, clothing was readjusted, but of course, no moves were made to wipe off the traces of sex. The aim was to discredit Harry Potter. He was to be displayed to the public, and then returned to his world, stinking, filthy, and recently raped.

***chapter end***


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. _.

_Chapter 7:_

In London, a crowd of witches and wizards waited in a park. In an open area was a high podium. It was empty. Immediately surrounding the podium was a line of aurors, behind them a barrier. Off to the side were two more aurors, guarding two prisoners, who looked worn and tired, and not at all hopeful. On a small raised dais, behind the crowd, a wizard was holding a muggle video camera. It was disguised. A muggle video camera could be viewed with suspicion after the videos that had already been sent, and those yet to be made public.

The Ministry of Magic didn't know that there was every intention of returning Harry to them that day. All that they knew was that letters had been received by the newspapers and by several influential private individuals, that Harry Potter was to be displayed to show that he was still alive and well, and that two named Azkaban prisoners were to be available, in case a deal was possible.

Harry Potter was still unconscious in a house in France, unknowing, unaware.

Among a group of Ministry officials, Ron and Hermione stood. Hermione was Harry's healer, and it was expected that if only Harry could be freed, a healer would definitely be needed. And Ron was Harry's best friend. After the trauma of captivity, a trusted friend was also likely to be needed. An ambulance team was also on standby.

Others of Harry's friends were present, desperately anxious to see that he was all right. But how could he be all right? To hold such a powerful wizard captive, drastic measures would surely be needed. It was not like he was going to sit quietly in an ordinary prison cell!

Draco Malfoy was there too, tall and blonde. He was the same age as Harry, and his hair looked paler than ever, streaked with white. His son, Lucius, was with him, tall and blonde like himself. Severus Snape stood waiting, but Albus Dumbledore was not present. He had had a slight turn a few days before, and his healer had told him to do as little as possible for a time.

Four masked wizards apparated onto on the podium. One held a sagging, unconscious figure, but once on the platform, a second wizard went to the other side of Harry, taking an arm, and helping support the dead weight. All the wizards had wands in hand, the two not holding their victim, had their wands ready and raised. No-one moved.

"Minister for Magic!" one of the wizards called, and Madam Bones moved forward, Kingsley Shacklebolt flanking her, and his wand was raised, too. Amelia Bones was looking old, and her eyes were on Harry, unsure whether he was alive or dead. She noticed that there were ropes dangling from his wrists.

"Is he alive?" she demanded anxiously.

"I'll show you!" said one, who appeared to be acting as leader.

Smith-Burton was not among the wizards, neither was Griff. Smith-Burton had too much sense than to put himself in such a vulnerable position, and he still valued his friend Griff, even though maimed. But these ones had been promised a very large amount of money to do the job, as well as promises of support, if necessary, from individuals within the crowd. They were assured that there was no risk.

But Smith-Burton had not supplied any support, what he had done was to wipe some memories, and change others so that he could not be traced from what these wizards knew. Smith-Burton fully expected these wizards to be taken by the aurors.

The temporarily appointed leader aimed his wand at Harry. _"Crucio,"_ he said quietly, and Harry's body jerked and trembled under the spell. He raised his wand, lifting the spell.

Harry's eyes were opening to slits then, and he blinked at the ground.

There was a cry from the crowd, "Harry, you have to fight!" and Harry started to raise his head.

Again, there was a gentle word, _"Crucio."_

Harry's body jerked and trembled again, but his head continued to rise, and he stared at the man who held the wand on him. His eyes were slits, his teeth bared against the agony of the torture spell, but the wand that was held steady on him suddenly jerked and disappeared, along with some fingers of the wizard who held it.

An instruction came from a voice he trusted, "Harry, disapparate!" and Harry, without hesitation, disapparated. Aurors acted then, spells were thrown, and four wizards were taken captive.

**xx**

Harry had learned his lesson from a previous occasion, and when he apparated, he looked around, didn't know where he was, but disapparated again anyway. He had no idea where he was, was still only half conscious, very weak, but just knew that he had to flee. His previous escape had ended in heartbreak when he found he was somehow back in the hands of his captors. Yet again, struggling to stay awake, he appeared in a paddock somewhere, and disapparated again.

Apparation is risky, and should only be done when one is fully healthy and alert. Half conscious, and fleeing, Harry apparated three times, and had no idea where he was when he found himself prone, shoulders and face in water. He pulled himself back out of the small brook, and collapsed, looked around blearily, eyes slits, trying to focus, but without his glasses.

He couldn't go on apparating forever. He could see no big house close, and he closed his eyes and relaxed back into unconsciousness. He had been given a very high dose of tranquilliser before he had been displayed to the crowd, and to have pulled himself to consciousness was a huge achievement. But Harry had by now developed a growing tolerance for the drug they constantly used. They would not have kept him much longer - or not alive!

Hours passed. Harry started to wake from the drugged sleep that had mostly held him for the past 20 days. He was thirsty, and a brook flowed close to his face. It may not have been a particularly clean brook, but Harry pulled himself forward and drank as much as he wanted for the first time in weeks. He was not aware of his own smell, as it had become a normal part of his surroundings. But when he touched his cheeks and found them furry, he rolled over, and ran his hands over his face, becoming clean shaven again, and feeling a bit more like himself. And then he noticed that ropes were around his wrists, and he shook with hatred, even though he could not remember in what circumstances they had been used. He vanished the ropes.

There was a tree close, and he pulled himself to his feet, very shaky, and staggered toward it, conjuring a cane to help himself. He dropped to the ground again, but sat with his back to the tree, trying to work out where he was and what he should do. His memories were very blurred. He knew he had been a prisoner, he knew he felt awful, he felt that weeks had somehow passed, but no definite memory came to him.

A half hour passed. Harry just sat, eyes closed, back to the tree, waiting for his head to clear.

A voice spoke, "You smell!"

A child stood before him, a child of seven or thereabouts. Harry blinked at the boy. He was eating an apple, and Harry suddenly knew that he was voraciously hungry. It was almost certainly a muggle, and Harry could conjure.

"Hello," he said. And he reached behind his back, bringing his hand back, holding a toy soldier. "I'll give you this if you can get me something to eat - even some bread. Just anything!"

The child cautiously came forward, grabbed the toy and ran off.

Harry closed his eyes again. It wasn't looking very hopeful. But there was the water, and he was thirsty again as well as hungry. This time he conjured himself a glass, and sent it to scoop water from a little away from the edge, where it seemed cleaner.

He wished he could conjure food, but no wizard could conjure food that had any nutritional value. He tried to satisfy himself with more water. He felt as if he'd been thirsty for weeks, and he drank three more glasses of the green and rather slimy water.

Back under his tree, he waited. Once he felt a bit better, maybe he could call Ron and Hermione. He needed help. Harry was well aware of the dangers of apparation while unfit - it could go so disastrously wrong. He vaguely remembering apparating to escape, surely it had been Ron who called out to him. He did not remember apparating three times running,

A woman's voice spoke to him. "Hello," she said, "Do you need help?"

Harry opened his eyes again, to see the boy standing next to a woman, presumably his mother, and said, "Please, I need some food."

The boy cautiously approached, holding out a rather grubby hand with some slices of bread. Harry was in no mood to be fussy however, taking them, and eagerly starting to eat.

The woman was staring. She had seen this man before, she thought. He smelled awful, and yet did not look quite like a derelict. And they were a long way from the city.

But suddenly, Harry's stomach revolted and he was being sick, retching again and again, until he collapsed in a faint, his eyes shut.

Two hours later he blinked at a white painted ceiling, rolled his head to the side, and knew immediately that he was in a hospital - a muggle hospital. He was clean and in fresh pyjamas. His stomach hurt though, and he was still so hungry!

Not far away, two doctors were conferring, debating whether this was a matter for the police. The examination they had performed had discovered that their unconscious patient was dehydrated, malnourished, and had almost certainly recently been anally penetrated - in light of the patient's condition - a probable rape. They wanted permission to do an anal probe, looking for semen internally. They were lucky they had not given in to temptation already. After Harry's experiences, he might have blasted off a hand that came too close. They finally decided to just wait until their patient regained consciousness. Mrs. Egan had said that he had been awake, and seemed rational, just very hungry.

Harry pulled himself up, annoyed by the rails on his bed. He wanted to get up and go to the toilet in a civilised fashion. And because he was now clean and fresh, he suddenly realised he really had been stinking! He reached over the side of the bed, trying to find the way to let down the railing, but it made him dizzy.

A nurse was at his side, then. "Hello," she said. "What's your name?"

Harry gave his name, before thinking that he should maybe have been better giving a false name - it was too late now. But there was an urgent matter. "Please drop the railings, I want to go to the toilet."

The nurse, thankfully without arguing, went to the rail and dropped it, only asking whether he would prefer a bottle - he seemed very weak, she said.

But he shook his head, and got to his feet, swaying dizzily for a moment. She handed him his cane, which had been brought to the hospital with him. Using the cane to keep his balance, he went in the direction that she indicated.

In the bathroom, he emptied his bladder and flushed the toilet, but he was looking at the shower, and suddenly stripped off his hospital pyjamas, and sent the water pouring over himself, scrubbing himself all over, and suddenly becoming convinced that he had been raped, not having any real memory, but there was a slight soreness, and besides, he knew. His memories were vague, but there was some memory. Faceless figures of wizards, hands moving over his body, a voice that spoke to him tenderly, lovingly, and yet inflicted terrible pain.

Tanya Roycroft, the nurse, notified the doctor that he was awake, and went to see whether he was out of the toilet yet. She called to him, but Harry was dazed, standing in the water letting torrents wash over his body, wanting to be clean. Tanya received no answer, and finally let herself in. He didn't even seem to notice her presence, clinging to a handhold in the large shower cubicle, and letting the water beat onto him.

Tanya suddenly looked away, her eyes shining with tears. Something bad had happened to this man. He was so thin, and this prolonged shower was the typical reaction of a rape victim. She was going to be in trouble, depending on how thorough had been his washing. The doctors had wanted to do a further examination, and it was possible that Mr. Potter had destroyed evidence.

"Mr. Potter," she said. "Come on, Mr. Potter, That's enough, you're clean now," knowing all the time that some rape victims never feel themselves clean.

He took no notice, and she suddenly saw how white he was again. She called for help, and the water was turned off, and their patient was towelled dry and gently bullied back into bed. He'd been looking a bit dazed as he had a shower, but Harry was hungry, and he made it very clear to his nurses - he wanted some food, and please, straight away! So Tanya organised him some food, and she did organise it straight away. He felt a lot better afterward.

Tanya was an excellent nurse, and he spoke to her a little, asking her name. He wished he could see more clearly. He hated being without his glasses.

A doctor approached him shortly afterward, asking to do the examination, asking whether they should call the police for him, asking what had happened to him.

Harry was uninformative. No examination, no police, nothing much had happened to him, he told them, and he said that he would organise a friend to pick him up shortly. The doctor made it clear that he should stay a few days - he was in poor condition. Harry had no intention of staying a few days. He had been a lot sicker than this in his life!

He got up again after his meal, looking for a phone, and enjoying his freedom. Somehow he didn't want just to ask for a phone, it seemed more like freedom to get up and find one.

He walked the length of the hospital ward, going to a window and looking out. He was still using his cane, otherwise, he knew, he would just keep staggering, and maybe falling to the side. He passed another patient's bed, and paused at the television set. There was his own face on the news. "Have you seen this man?" they were saying, and the news reader told everyone that he had been a kidnap victim, but was known to have escaped. That he had been treated very badly, and that if he were found, there was absolutely to be no attempt to constrain him in any way, but that a number was to be called, and Harry recognised the muggle phone number for the Ministry of Magic.

Harry didn't want to go to the Ministry. They would no doubt produce their healers, and want to question him, and examine him, and bother him in every other way they could think of. But if he didn't organise his own help soon, he would have no choice. Surely the staff here would notice that news item soon.

He thought of apparating, as he felt so much better after his meal, but he experimentally shook his head, and found himself so immediately dizzy again that he decided it was not a good idea. He had attempted to apparate once when he was not fully fit, and found himself in the middle of an ocean, nearly drowning before he could gather his wits and try again. He had never told anyone, especially not his wife or his healer, but he knew the dangers of apparating while unfit.

But just around the corner in the corridor, was a phone, and Hermione had always had a phone. It was only mid afternoon, and he had to rack his brains to remember either their home number, or their office number, and suddenly realised he didn't know what day it was, either. It was still only mid afternoon, he knew that much. But a passing patient told him the day and the date, and now he knew that his imprisonment had lasted just three weeks, not much in the scheme of things. But the patient had been watching the news and told a nurse.

Everything was still blurry for Harry without his glasses, but he still managed to use the phone, using his magic in place of the coins he didn't have, and was relieved to find that Ron was at his office, where he had first tried. He was able to tell Ron where to come, too, the name and address of the hospital were stamped on the front of the phone book.

Ron was overjoyed to hear from him, but Harry asked him to please not tell the Ministry, just to send word later that he had been in contact, and was safe.

Ron arrived within ten minutes, most of those involved in locating Harry within the hospital, as he was still listed at reception as a 'John Doe.' Harry was sitting on his bed, waiting for him. To Ron he looked unlike himself, thin and pale, but more importantly, without his glasses.

"Thanks, Ron," he said, "I didn't think I'd better apparate at the moment."

Ron went to him, uncertain what to do or say. It had only been a few hours since he'd seen the man sagging in the arms of a wizard. He'd looked terrible then, and he'd been under torture. And there was the unheard of achievement of fighting back while actually under the strong magic of the Cruciatus Curse.

Harry rose, but went to find his nurse first. She was just returning to the ward after talking to the doctor, and a phone call had to be made. He went to her, "I'm leaving now," and he suddenly knew what he needed to cleanse himself. His look and voice changed, and now there was apparent all the sexual attraction and yearning desire that he had always been able to show at will. "If I come back in a day or two, would you like to go out with me?"

Nurse Roycroft looked into his eyes, felt a touch weak at the knees, forgot entirely her rather half-hearted boyfriend, and said, "Yes, please."

Ron watched in bemusement. That was the quickest pickup he had ever seen!

As well as forgetting that she supposedly had a boyfriend, Tanya also forgot that Harry was about to leave without any of the usual formalities, and made no move to delay the two wizards as they left, one in muggle clothing, and one in undignified hospital pyjamas. If Harry gave a thought to the filthy clothing that he had been wearing, he would have assumed that it had been destroyed.

Harry and Ron turned, and walked out the door. Ron, from long experience, walked on Harry's left hand side, but Harry still had his cane. He knew he always staggered to the left when he was ill or tired.

As soon as they were out of sight, Ron put his arm around Harry, and took him to his own place, where Hermione already waited. Hermione hugged him. "Welcome home," she said, a break in her voice.

Harry smiled down at her, and said, "I'm awfully hungry - do you reckon you can get me something to eat?"

"I thought they would have fed you in the muggle hospital."

"They did. But I have the feeling I may have missed some meals just lately. I'm starving!"

Hermione bustled around getting him some bread and jam. He could have a proper dinner later, and more food now if he wanted, although maybe it was not a good idea for him to have too much just at first.

A half hour later, some very impressive government officials arrived at the muggle hospital to collect Harry Potter, but found the patient already gone. They left with copies of the medical examinations, pathology results, and two plastic bags containing the clothing that he'd been wearing.

It was not even 4.00pm. That morning Harry had been subject to a cruel imprisonment. Now he was free, but he remembered almost nothing of his imprisonment. He didn't even know why his left leg was slightly sore.

When Harry had freed himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt had called Hermione to the Ministry, and showed her the tape that had arrived ten days or so before, as it was expected that she would shortly be treating him. So for the past few hours, Hermione knew of the type of captivity that he had undergone. Her Healers' ethics prevented her from telling her husband, and she didn't know how much Harry would actually remember.

Ron didn't wait long before starting his questioning. But Harry was vague. He didn't really know what had happened. They had kept him drugged the whole time. He questioned them in return. How was it that Ron had called to him? Was it real or imagined? They told him about the scene at the park, and Harry went crimson, looking hard at the wall, as he discovered that so many people had seen him helpless. This was going to be the most difficult thing for Harry. He knew that he had been helpless, but he hated that others should know. He knew that he had been filthy, and had smelled bad, but he had hoped that few others had seen him in that condition. And he knew that he had been raped, and he _never_ wanted anyone else to ever know.

Hermione wanted him to allow her to examine him. He refused. Hermione was unusually persistent until Harry lost his temper, getting up, swaying a little, and told her crossly that he was going to go home. She went to him then, hugged him again, and apologised. He didn't have to do anything he didn't want, she said.

Hermione had a fair idea of his reasons for refusing an examination, but she was a Healer. He should not conceal his problems from his Healer. He still looked pale, and she thought that he was still drug affected, too. He was depending on his cane, although he hadn't needed one for years. Instead of badgering him to have the examination that she was sure that he should have, she asked him if he wanted some ice-cream, wondering why he suddenly looked so odd. What was there about ice-cream? He accepted, though.

What he needed were his glasses. He had spare glasses at his home, and thought that he might get them in the morning. Right now, he seemed to be getting more sleepy by the minute, and when Hermione suggested that he go to bed, he didn't argue.

Harry still had drugs in his system, and slept deeply for a time, Hermione checking on him frequently. But close to midnight, he woke, clutching his stomach in pain. After three weeks of starvation, his body needed to readjust to normal living.

The problem soon resolved itself, and when Hermione came to check on him, she found him in the kitchen, looking for more food. He was obviously going to recover physically, she thought, but didn't know how he was getting on otherwise. He had only said that he had no memory of his captivity, and that they must have kept him drugged the whole time, and he had shown her his arm, marked with numerous pinpricks.

He was eating again, Hermione sitting with him at the table, when he looked in the direction of the window. "Someone's out there," he said, rising softly from the table, and going to the window.

"It's only the aurors, they think there should be a guard."

"You told them where I am then."

"They found out," Hermione said, "They're not stupid, after all."

"I guess not."

Harry was wishing he was fit enough to go out. He felt restless, and didn't want to go back to bed. He didn't want to think about his captivity either. It was still just a blur in his memory. But he was still shaky, and would only exhaust himself for no reason, and Hermione eventually persuaded him to go back to bed, where he immediately fell asleep, and slept deeply and dreamlessly until quite late in the morning.

Well before Harry woke, Ron visited his home, and returned with a spare pair of glasses, and clothing for Harry.

Hermione was handed a copy of the medical records from the muggle hospital, as well as a copy of the findings obtained when his clothing had been examined. She was torn. She suspected that Harry would hate her to look at these papers, but she also thought that as his Healer, she needed to know, and the Ministry obviously thought the same.

But there was nothing in the report that she hadn't known or suspected. It was fairly conclusive that Harry had been raped, almost certainly while unconscious, as there were very high levels of tranquilliser still in his system at the time of the blood test. There was little otherwise, except a note that there was a considerable amount of old blood on his trousers. She knew what that was - the bloodletting early in his captivity that was supposed to weaken him.

Again she didn't tell Ron what was in the report, although he was looking at it curiously.

***chapter end***


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted, belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 8:_

Harry woke in the late morning, and was very grateful to find a pair of his glasses on his bedside table, as well as some clothing. He thought his wand was probably lost forever. He could do magic without his wand, but he didn't like other people to know that he could do magic without his wand, so conjured himself something that looked just like a wand, and put it in the usual pocket.

Dressed, and wearing his glasses, he felt much more like himself as he went downstairs, hoping for some breakfast. Hermione and Ron were both still there, surprising him. It was a weekday, surely they should both be at work.

But Hermione and Ron were deeply protective of Harry, at the same time as they were often awed by his powers. They had both organised days off for themselves, feeling that their friend needed looking after right now. Hermione, of course, had very good reason for suspecting that there may be deep trauma, possibly buried right now, but there. As a healer, she knew that an unconscious person often retains more awareness than is apparent. She was afraid of a sudden breakdown, and thought that Harry should have his healer available.

Harry had finished his breakfast, and was relaxing in an armchair, his feet on a footstool, when there came another knock at the door. He didn't move, but was immediately alert. He knew the voice in the next room, and was standing when Hermione brought Jebedee Shacklebolt in.

Jebedee was astonished to see Harry looking so normal. He was thin still, of course, and looked a bit pale, but for someone who had been through three weeks of imprisonment, he looked calm and in possession of himself.

Harry was an essential witness when they had the initial hearing and further questioning of the four wizards who had been his keepers. Hermione had tried to suggest the following day, still thinking that Harry was not well enough to undergo what could easily be a traumatic ordeal. But Harry contradicted her, suggesting 1.00pm that day. He was not going to delay.

Jebedee also said specifically that Hermione was needed, and that Mr. Ron Weasley was also invited to attend if he wanted.

At 1.00pm, Ron apparated with Harry into the atrium of the Ministry, Hermione stating that Harry still should not apparate alone. Harry didn't argue. It was to be a closed hearing, meaning that no-one aside from those immediately involved would attend, but there were still the customary five at the head table, including, of course, Minister Amelia Bones. There was also a secretary, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was to do the questioning. There were chairs available for Harry, Ron and Hermione, and they were all treated with courtesy, Harry with utmost respect, but he had to make his way past what seemed like hundreds of curious eyes.

Harry was questioned first, even before the four wizards were brought in. But he sat imperturbable, only saying that he could remember nothing, and assumed that he was kept drugged the whole time.

Madam Bones gave a brief summary then, of Harry being seen subject to the Cruciatus curse, and said that no further witnesses were needed, as so many of those present had been witnesses also.

The four wizards were brought in, and Harry listened closely, as they were, each in turn, asked their names. Something was not quite right, but he was not sure what. The wizards were interested in protecting themselves as much as possible, and refused to give any information to the questioners. Then, to Harry's astonishment, a muggle television screen was wheeled in, and a video placed in the video slot. Kingsley Shacklebolt stated that this video had been in the possession of one of the wizards when captured. Harry was not at all sure that he wanted that video shown, but no-one asked him.

The video opened with the segment of the initial identification of Harry Potter, and Hermione, sitting next to him, felt a shudder go through him as the voice of the narrator was first heard. Harry's face was still cold, however - expressionless.

The film stopped at the point where Harry was clearly identified, not showing the bloodletting, or the sexual act of the wizard who was handling the unconscious body. Next there were scenes of torture, although it was silenced, on orders from Madam Bones. She didn't want Harry to hear that music that might make him scream.

But the video was cut short, and somehow wouldn't work any more. Harry had seen enough, and he knew that the voice that gave him such chills was not the voice of any of the captured wizards. Amelia Bones gave him a look of deep suspicion, but Harry ignored it, and only asked politely if they minded if he questioned the wizards.

Minister Bones nodded, waiting to hear what they had to say. But Harry rose from his chair, still using his cane, and walked to the first wizard. He concentrated, and almost immediately he could feel the spell that was the memory modification. He quietly broke the spell, and, telling the wizard to whisper, he obtained the name and address of their true leader, Andrew Smith-Burton, the Sixth. He then imposed his own memory modification spell. He wanted to visit Smith-Burton, and he wanted to do it without interference from the Ministry.

"Please, speak up, we can't hear," commanded Shacklebolt, but Harry only said that he was finished, and as he returned to his chair, he quite deliberately staggered, as if still very weak. He murmured to Hermione, and she stood, and asked Madam Bones if they could take Harry home now, as he was still not recovered from the ordeal. Madam Bones looked at Harry, still pale, and swaying slightly as he sat, and nodded her assent.

Harry allowed himself to lean on Ron as he left the room, although walking a bit more easily in the corridor. He staggered again though, as he passed another small group of aurors in the corridor, and looked desperately weak as if he could scarcely walk at all as they entered the atrium, which always seemed to be full of people. Ron and Hermione were both looking concerned as Ron took his arm, and conveyed him instantly back to their place.

"Thanks, Ron," he said, and throwing off his supposed weakness entirely, asked if he could borrow an apparation coordinates map.

"What are you doing?" asked Ron in blank surprise.

"There was another. I'm going after him," said Harry, and he asked for the apparation map again, which Ron almost automatically got for him.

"Harry, you're too weak to do anything like that!" said Hermione.

But Harry was looking grim and determined. "I was putting it on a bit back there, I don't want Ministry interference. This is personal!" He leaned over the map, studying it, and then he stood, saying only that he would come back to their place later if they didn't mind.

"Harry, stop!" Hermione said, "You shouldn't be apparating!"

"I'm fine now!"

"You said you couldn't remember anything!"

"I know enough, and I'm not wasting time arguing - he's not getting away from me!"

Ron spoke up suddenly. "Then I'll come with you. I can watch your back."

Harry paused, he could certainly do with someone to watch his back! But he said, "I don't want to get you involved. It may be that the Ministry would not approve of my actions!"

Ron said again, "Let me come with you. You know I'm a qualified auror, and you're still not fit!"

Harry was undecided, looking at Ron. "If this is the man I think it is, I may very likely kill him. You don't want to be involved."

"You're my friend first. I will come with you, and I promise I won't interfere!"

After a pause, Harry nodded, and gave him the apparation coordinates that he needed.

The pair appeared in a street near a large house. "Is this where you were, Harry?" asked Ron in a low voice.

"I don't think so," answered Harry, in a voice just as low. He was carefully studying the house. It was a big house, and there was probably a staff. And then he pointed out a particular window. "See that room up there? I'm going to apparate directly into that room."

Ron nodded, and drew his wand, suddenly realising, "You have no wand!"

"I can do without a wand," answered Harry, in the same grim tone he had used throughout.

Harry had long since badgered Ron into learning to apparate silently, and the pair were initially unobserved as they arrived in a corner of a large lounge room, where two wizards sat at their ease in armchairs, watching a video. Harry just stood for a moment, looking at them. He had no memory of their faces, but then the smaller one spoke, and he shuddered. He knew that voice.

He walked toward them, looking suddenly pantherish. The smaller one, Smith-Burton, saw them, and started to jump to his feet and draw his wand. But the wand vanished and the middle-aged man collapsed back in his chair, helpless. The other was also rendered helpless.

Ron knew that his friend could hold the wizards like that, unable to move, but he also knew that Harry was unfit. Harry attempted too much sometimes, and a faint now would be catastrophic. So Ron efficiently removed the wand from the man who still held it in his pocket, put on the standard anti-disapparation charm, and used his wand to conjure ropes that tied them both firmly in their chairs. And then he locked the door.

Smith-Burton was looking at Harry, unsurprised. He did not appear frightened, although the large man looked terrified. Instead he was looking at his victim with adoration. "I knew you'd come. You couldn't help but find me, no matter what!" His voice was tender, admiring. "It was so wonderful, having you at my mercy," he said, lovingly rather than cruelly. "Look," he said, and indicated the video. Harry saw a picture of his own naked chest, with hands that gently explored his body.

"Watch it, Harry," said Smith-Burton, gently commanding. "You need to know what happened, don't you?"

Harry stared at the face he had not seen before, and he knew that this man had used him in a way that he had never thought to be used. But he watched the man as much as the video as the erotic play proceeded. He suddenly turned to Ron, "Do you want to leave?"

Ron, terribly uncomfortable, said, "There are two. I won't leave you alone with them," and Ron avoided his eyes, scarcely glancing at the video, as the body was abruptly moved across the bed by the other man, whom Harry now looked closely at for the first time.

The abrupt conclusion of the sex scene switched Harry's total attention to the video, however, and Ron gave a sudden laugh of triumph. It was unbearable to him that Harry might have been sodomised, and this sudden turn was an enormous relief to him.

Harry gave his friend a brief grin, understanding but not sharing his relief. He took the controls of the video machine, briefly reversed and repeated the part that showed the erect penis of the man Griff, suddenly rendered useless. But he shook his head in puzzlement. He had obviously been totally unconscious, and he finally turned to Smith-Burton, "What happened?"

"It had to be you. There was no-one else."

Harry looked at the large man. "Stand," he commanded him. "Show me your penis."

The ropes dropped off, and the man rose and fumbled at his clothing, tears streaming down his face. Harry was pitiless. The man bared his genitals, showing that his penis was almost non-existent. Harry again shook his head. How could he have done that while unconscious?

"Sit!' he said to Griff. And there was a new command, laced with magic. "Be calm. Believe that your penis has been restored."

The man sat, his tears stopped, and there was a calm smile of satisfaction in his face. But Ron still tied him up again.

Smith-Burton said to him in a tone of wonder, "You are unique! It was the most incredible thing when I finally had you!"

Harry looked at him, saying grimly, "You do realise that you're going to die for it!" And Smith-Burton, from the depths of his sexual deviance, said that to die by the hand of Harry Potter would be a magnificent climax to his life!

Harry just shook his head, and Ron suddenly chimed in, "Anyway, you didn't have him! That was your friend, and then he failed!"

"Continue watching," Smith-Burton said softly.

Harry started up the segment again. There was a pause in the action - for a moment, the screen was blank. And then it resumed: _'Day sixteen. He burned my hands yesterday. So now I'm going to get my pleasure from him in a different way. And it's an interesting experiment. How much can he hear, feel? I'm going to get him conditioned so that he reacts to a particular piece of music as though he were being tortured.' _

Harry should have turned off the video at that point, or at least the sound. But he didn't quite realise what he was about to experience. For at the sudden sound of crashing chords of music, his whole body reacted and he turned and was violently ill in the corner. It was lucky that Ron was there, and that the two wizards were held by more than mental power, as for a few minutes, Harry was helpless.

Ron reached for the controls, but said, "How do you work this thing?"

Harry, white and sweating, took it from him and stopped it.

Harry just waited for a moment, leaning against the wall, still looking very sick. Smith-Burton watched him, fascinated and aroused. But then Harry stood again, his face expressionless, although pale and shiny with sweat. He fast forwarded the film, eliminating the sound. The segments of torture were seen again, the same piece of film that had been shown not long before at the Ministry of Magic where the hearing of four wizards was not yet over.

In quick motion, soundless, he saw more scenes of torture, an image of pink roses frozen for a moment, and then he saw the scene of himself being raped, almost comical as the motions were accelerated in fast forward. The video clip abruptly reached its end.

"It was the most incredible thing when I finally had you!" repeated Smith-Burton.

Harry looked at his watch. He had been here a while, and there could be others in the house. He went to the large man. "What's your name?"

The man told him - "Griff."

Harry turned to Ron. "How about you wait outside for me?"

But Ron, who was looking almost as pale and sick as Harry, said again, "No, I should he here. I need to watch your back."

"You may not like this," said Harry, grimly, "And I won't tolerate interference."

Ron said quietly, "I stay." After those last scenes, he didn't think that Harry could do anything that didn't have his full approval.

Harry turned to Griff again, and, in a soft and deadly tone, told him to think of something very happy. A smile spread across the face of Griff. Harry waited a moment, and the smile froze in place as Griff died.

Smith-Burton was finally afraid, but Harry just questioned him for a moment. He wanted to know how many others were in the house, and was very pleased to learn that there were none. Smith-Burton was not lying to him, as when Harry questioned in that fashion, it was not possible to lie to him.

He asked about the videos - How many were there? Were there any others? He was getting tired, it was only the previous day that he had been in the hands of his captors, and he failed to discern that Smith-Burton's memory had been modified. There were other videos in the house, Smith-Burton said, in a particular room where pictures of Harry were displayed. And then he had sent one to a friend. But that was all in existence, he said, aside from the short clips that the Ministry had.

Harry suspected that he may already have destroyed that one when he had cut it short at the hearing. It depended whether the Ministry had made copies, and muggle technology was not widely known among wizards. Harry obtained the name and address of the friend, and he had all he wanted from Smith-Burton.

When he looked at Smith-Burton, the man looked back at him, terrified. He had thought that he would enjoy being killed by Harry Potter, but he knew what was coming.

Harry did not change his mind, he changed the mind of Smith-Burton. "You are happy now," he said. "You can have your best fantasy, stronger and more clear than ever before."

Smith-Burton made an effort, and asked yearningly, "Can I just touch you first?"

Harry shuddered, and said, "You can believe that you touch me," and he waited as Smith-Burton's eyes looked into the distance, filmed with desire, and only when Smith-Burton's body began jerking in the chair did he squeeze gently with his mind, and Smith-Burton died imagining that he was in the body of Harry Potter, and that Harry Potter was loving it.

Harry was all business now. He was very tired, and wanted to rest, but more importantly, he wanted to destroy all evidence of what had been done to him. He vanished the bodies of the two wizards, vanished all the video equipment, including the film that was in the room, and then went though the house, vanishing all other evidence that Smith-Burton had anything to do with Harry Potter.

He came to the room papered with enormous posters of himself, and he wondered how long this obsession had lasted. There was a desk, which he looked through. To his surprised pleasure, he found his wand. A wizard's wand becomes a part of himself, and, even though he could very efficiently work magic without his wand, Harry was no exception.

There was also something else put away carefully in a plastic bag, like a valued souvenir - a bloodstained, pooey pair of underpants. Harry quickly vanished them, hoping that Ron had not seen.

There were bookshelves filled with apparently every book that had ever mentioned him, and folders of newspaper clippings. Finally he and Ron just vanished everything in the room, leaving it stark and empty. He wasn't finished though, and they checked the whole house, but found nothing else unusual.

"Home?" questioned Ron.

"No, the place where his friend lives, the one he sent a video to."

"You're not going to kill him, too, are you?" said Ron.

"Probably not," said Harry, too casually for Ron's peace of mind. Ron had never killed anyone, in spite of his earlier career as an auror. He was now a security consultant.

In the other house, they discovered an elderly wizard watching the same segment of film clip that Smith-Burton had been watching. Hanks had been watching it repeatedly. Until the abrupt ending, it was a powerfully erotic piece of film.

To Ron's relief, Harry only vanished the video, vanished any other video he saw in the house, and modified the memory of the old man. Hanks would never remember the visit of Harry Potter, and would only be very confused at the total loss of the collection of pornography that he had been amassing for the last fifty years.

Harry took a deep breath, said, "Home,' and he and Ron apparated into the living room of Hermione's and Ron's place. He was very tired, and stumbled straight to a chair, collapsing into it.

The next morning, Ron and Hermione found a brief note from him thanking them for everything, and saying that he was going away for a while.

Ron had told Hermione what Harry had done, and about the video which, to Ron, entirely justified the killings.

Hermione was horrified. Harry must not go executing wizards just because they deserved it! He'd be in big trouble one day. They told each other what they knew, but seldom referred to it again, and never told anyone else.

***chapter end***


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaime__r: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 9:_

Albus Dumbledore embraced Harry when he appeared, and wanted to talk at length. But Harry said, "Albus, I can't talk about it now. I can't remember anything in any case."

So Dumbledore sent for James as requested, and told Harry he was to take as much sick leave as needed.

James threw himself into his father's arms, when he was called to Dumbledore's office. The boy often disapproved of his father, always having the feeling that he was just not as respectable as James felt that he should be.

Maybe James was right. Respectable people do not ruthlessly execute their kidnappers. But he was very glad to have him back all the same.

The twins and Adam knew that he was back, but Harry had only sent short notes. He knew he needed time to heal himself. He hoped that some of the curiosity and speculation would have ceased by the time he returned to work.

Nurse Tanya Roycroft found him leaning against the external hospital wall when she finished her shift that day. She had a brief talk with him, turned back to the hospital, went to the Director of Nursing, and was very lucky to be able to arrange two weeks leave, starting immediately. A few hours later, she and Harry sat on an aeroplane and flew to a Greek Island tourist resort.

That evening, Tanya found that Harry's experiences appeared to have left no mark. He was too thin, but otherwise he had a fine body as she had previously observed, and he made love beautifully. She thought that he was in his twenties, and he never mentioned that he was not far from fifty. He didn't talk much about himself at all in fact. He appeared to have plenty of money, and was happy to spend it on pure enjoyment. Almost whatever she suggested, he was pleased to go along with. Harry paid for everything, but she felt within herself that she was helping him recover from a bitter experience and didn't feel guilty that she was not paying her way.

A week into the holiday, he suddenly looked into the mirror more closely than usual. His hair showed touches of white at the sides. It appeared that, after all, he was going to show physical traces of his ordeal.

Tanya thought that, for Harry's own health, he should talk about his experience of kidnap, but he refused to talk about it, or even think about it. Every night, they made love, and then he would sleep deeply and dreamlessly, as his body threw off the effects of starvation and ill treatment. He had always had nightmares, but now he had lived his nightmare, and for a time, his sleep was consistently peaceful.

A week after the start of his holiday with Tanya, Harry noticed Trevor Jackson, the auror, as he strolled with Tanya along the beach. The Ministry had found him. But Trevor, and later a couple of the other aurors he spotted around, didn't approach him, and so he ignored them.

Reports were sent back. Harry Potter had an attractive young girlfriend, he looked tanned, healthy and happy, although still too thin.

Ten days into his holiday, Jebedee Shacklebolt waited for him as he returned to the small hotel next to the beach. He and Tanya were wearing only their swimmers, and had towels draped over their shoulders. Jebedee was looking at him meaningfully, and Harry supposed that he'd better see what he wanted. So he kissed Tanya, said that he just had to see a man about something, and he'd see her again in their room.

Jebedee greeted him, and Harry, slightly annoyed that he should be pestered here, asked what he wanted. Jebedee told him that the trial of the wizards was the following day, 9.00am. It was to be a full trial, as an Unforgivable Curse had been used. The whole of the Wizemgamot would be there, although, of course, Harry was the victim and a witness, and would not be part of the judging process. Harry nodded.

He was staring into space, thinking. He would rather his gaolers went free than say too much about what had happened to him. He needed more information about what they were to be charged with, and decided that he had to see Madam Bones. "Are you apparating back now?" he asked Jebedee.

Jebedee nodded, and Harry said, "I want to see Madam Bones. Can you ask her for me? I'll be twenty minutes or so."

Jebedee was looking at him curiously, but Harry's face betrayed nothing. He suddenly noticed the new flecks of white in his hair.

Twenty minutes later, Harry Potter, dressed in muggle clothing, arrived in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, to be greeted courteously by Jebedee who was waiting for him, and stared at curiously by every other person who saw him. Harry was unworried about possible penalties for killing Smith-Burton and Griff, as there was no way the Ministry could know about the incident. But he _was_ worried about what was to be brought out at the trial.

Minister Amelia Bones, as she usually did for Harry, had an excellent afternoon tea waiting as he and Jebedee entered the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt was with her. Harry flicked his eyes to Jebedee, and Kingsley immediately said, "Thank you, Jebedee," in an unmistakable order to leave.

Harry got down to business straight away, showing no interest in the food for a change. "What are they to be charged with?"

Kingsley answered, "Kidnap and torture. We don't have the evidence for anything else."

"What evidence is to be used?" Harry asked.

"Well, we don't have the video that you saw at the hearing, it no longer works," and he gave Harry an annoyed look, obviously suspecting his intervention. "So we have only the evidence of your appearance just before you escaped, and the torture that was seen by numerous witnesses, when you escaped."

Harry's brow creased. "What torture?"

"On the podium in the park. They used the Cruciatus curse, and then you made the wand vanish, plus three fingers I might add, and you disapparated."

"I'd forgotten," admitted Harry.

"How much do you really remember or know, Harry?" asked Kingsley, putting as much persuasion in his voice as he could.

"Virtually nothing," said Harry, blandly. "I assume they kept me drugged the whole time. But I remember something was said about torture at the hearing."

The Ministry also had the short video that they had received early in Harry's captivity, but they had decided not to use that, as the only extra information on it was rather sensitive.

And then Harry put as much persuasion in his voice as Kingsley had, "Amelia, I think maybe the motive for this whole exercise was my embarrassment as much as anything. So I'd be very grateful if you don't help them achieve their aim. Try and keep it short and sweet if you possibly can."

Amelia answered warmly, "I don't want you embarrassed either, Harry. Only Kingsley and I know that there was something else, and we're not likely to tell anyone."

Harry was looking at them. He didn't know what they knew, and didn't want to ask. And Harry had not hinted to anyone that he knew a bit more than he had admitted, either. So he just got up, said, "Thank you," and left, leaving Amelia looking rather blankly at a large, tempting but untouched, afternoon tea. But several employees were happy when it appeared in their tea room.

Harry returned to Tanya, but he had lost some of the enjoyment of his holiday. He told her that he would be away for probably most of the following day, and that night he slept badly, with confused images of helplessness and imprisonment. He heard a voice in his dreams, a smooth voice, with a slight gravel quality. '_Tears,_ Harry?' it said, and he jerked awake, trembling.

The following day, Harry sat in his wizard robes, wearing a coolly expressionless face, as four wizards were charged with kidnap, torture in the case of one, and accessory to torture in the case of three.

They questioned Harry as a witness, very briefly, but he only said that he had been kept drugged the whole time and remembered nothing. A muggle pathology report on a blood test, done the same day as Harry's escape, confirmed high amounts of muggle tranquilliser in his blood, and he was not pestered further.

The trial was quick, the wizards were charged, and while Harry found it embarrassing to be seen as a helpless victim of kidnap and torture, it could have been very much worse.

Reporters and photographers waited for him afterward in the atrium of the Ministry, where, it was assumed, he would have to appear before he could leave. But Harry, this time, stepped into an empty office before he got to the atrium, and disapparated from the office, reappearing, with relief, in time for lunch with Tanya, at a restaurant overlooking a sunny beach.

He had nightmares again that night, and walked the beach for a while. Tanya knew when he quietly left the bed, and knew when he quietly returned a few hours later.

When she woke in the morning, Harry was back beside her, and she just looked at him for a while. She was thinking that even after nearly two weeks in his company, she scarcely knew him. They had had a marvellous time, the sex had been great, but she knew that this could never be a permanent relationship. She needed someone very different as a husband.

He was naked, and lay face down, the sheets long since thrust away in the heat. His tanned back and shoulders were muscular, tempting her to touch, and enjoy the hardness and strength of a fit and strong man. But he was still deeply asleep.

Tanya Roycroft was a nurse. If Harry had fully realised how much Tanya knew, it was unlikely that he would ever have asked her out. Tanya had seen the stinking and bedraggled figure that had arrived by ambulance, and had been present at the initial examination. She had seen the soiled clothing as it was removed, with its strong smell of old urine and dark stains of blood. It appeared that his clothing may not have been changed for weeks. She knew of the pathology tests, the blood test that showed very high levels of tranquilliser, and the other that confirmed the presence of semen and blood around his anus.

She knew what had been done to him, and wished she could somehow eliminate it. It seemed like a sacrilege on that desirable body.

She started gently caressing his back, tracing the lines of muscles, touching the old scar that ran across his ribs. Her hands wandered lower, and she found herself probing - this was where a hard penis had been inserted. She wanted to heal, and she was also feeling the tingling of desire. Why was the thought of that act somehow so exciting?

The play was abruptly cut short, Tanya shrieked with pain and recoiled, her hands burning with pain. Harry had thrown himself out of bed, and had his back to the opposite wall. He was trembling, white-faced again. They stared at each other. Tanya was crying, she didn't know what had happened, but her hands were very painful, blistering as if burnt.

Harry came to himself. It had only been Tanya, getting a bit too personal while he slept, and Tanya found her hands no longer hurting, healed in fact. But she still stared at Harry. "What are you?" she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Tanya, I didn't mean to."

She still stared at him. "You frighten me!" and it was in a soft, almost whimpering voice.

Harry gave a short laugh. "What about me?" he said, and held out a shaking hand. "I'm trembling, too!"

Tanya's nurses' instincts came to the fore. He had been her patient, and now he shook with fear. She went to him, holding him in an embrace. And they consoled each other in the best way possible. They slept late that day.

Tanya didn't ask again what Harry was, and Harry didn't offer any explanation for hands that suddenly blistered as if burnt, and, just as abruptly, were cured.

Harry was relieved that he hadn't been more drastic. A wizard's fingers had been lost not long before, and a man's penis shortened to useless. Tanya had only been burnt, but Harry reminded himself of a vow that he had made many years before - he should never do magic unless with a clear mind. And yet he had a vague memory of fighting against the administration of a potion, and he suspected that there may have been opportunities in his captivity, when he could have used magic to attack his gaolers and escape.

But there was the other side. One time, he had been very sick for weeks, delirious, and was convinced then that he was surrounded by enemies. If he had done magic then, he might have seriously hurt or killed people who were only trying to look after him.

**xx**

Albus Dumbledore was looking for Harry, who had sent word that he would be back that Sunday before lunch, ready to resume work the following day. Albus knew a lot of what had happened to Harry - there had been the video sent to him, and he and Severus Snape knew that there had been torture, as well as sexual molestation.

Amelia had confirmed to Dumbledore that there was evidence of rape, but Albus did not tell Snape. Snape had a great admiration for Harry, and Albus knew that the thought that his body had been so used would be horrible to him. It was horrible to himself, but Albus was very old now, and understood that it was the soul and the spirit that was important. The body may be humiliated, but it does not need to harm the spirit. He had enough respect for Harry Potter to know that he would not allow himself to be destroyed by his ordeal, whether or not he fully knew what had happened to him.

The old headmaster had taught Harry himself, and he knew that Harry had the skills to comb his own brain, and to retrieve memories that appeared to be gone. He suspected that when Harry said that he had no memory of his captivity, it was probably a lie. Dumbledore was a member of the Wizemgamot himself, and had been present at the trial. Harry had seen him, but had only nodded, and had vanished immediately at the conclusion of the trial.

But Harry still did not have much memory of his captivity. He had not deeply explored his memories and didn't think he wanted to. He knew enough, and felt there was no need to hurt himself by dwelling on it. Besides, killing his rapist, and Griff who had attempted rape, had been very therapeutic. He was sure that it would have been a lot more difficult to come to terms with what had happened if the perpetrators had been still alive!

The students and teachers of Hogwarts saw Professor Potter for the first time in nearly six weeks, when he walked into the great hall for lunch. Harry knew that there would be stares and curiosity, but he walked in looking much as he always did, maybe somewhat remote, as he took his place at the teacher's table.

James stared at him - how could his father face everyone after being displayed filthy, drugged and helpless? He was sure that if it had been himself, he would have had to flee the country!

Harry spoke perfectly normally to his fellow professors as he ate his lunch, and they had the tact only to say 'Welcome back,' with scarcely a hint that it was more than a couple of weeks holiday that he was being welcomed back from. But some of them, especially Snape, had shaken his hand very hard, and a couple even looked a touch emotional.

Harry was wearing his cool facade, and showed no indication of any emotion whatsoever.

James, though, waited for him by the door, and called, "Dad?"

Harry hugged him and said, "I'll definitely try not to do that to you again. Sorry, James."

James walked back with him to his office, answering Harry's questions about his studies, and discussing Thestrals, which he'd been introduced to the previous week. Neither Harry nor James referred to Harry having been kidnapped.

James went off after a time, and Dumbledore, who'd been waiting, joined Harry in his office. "I know you won't want to," he said, "But I'm going to insist that you have a full medical examination before you resume work."

Harry was looking mutinous, and he continued, "Amelia Bones says that you have to have a medical clearance before you resume your spell-breaking, or your role on the Wizemgamot, also."

Harry looked at Dumbledore resentfully, not hiding his annoyance. "I'm perfectly all right !" he said. "And maybe I'll just give up on the spell-breaking - see what Madam Bones says then!" Harry knew perfectly well that the Ministry valued his spell-breaking work, and would be very reluctant to see it cease.

But this anger was not characteristic of Harry, and Dumbledore was only more convinced that he should be looked at. "I insist, Harry," he said gently, but very firmly.

Harry turned from him, swiftly pacing the floor for a moment, fretting. He didn't want to be touched. But what was he frightened of? Obviously there would be no traces of rape now, and he knew that aside from being still too thin, he was perfectly healthy. And thorough or not, wizard medical examinations were always a lot less physically intrusive than muggle ones - but they could give a lot more information.

"Oh, all right then," he finally said grudgingly. "Hermione can have a look at me Wednesday, will that do?"

"I have arranged for Hermione to attend here, in fact she should be here by now. She and Poppy can have a close look at you here and now."

Harry still wore an ill tempered frown, but appeared to become more resigned as they headed for the hospital wing.

By the time they entered the hospital, he was able to smile at the elderly nurse, and greet her with his normal friendliness, and even to remember to thank Hermione again for her help when he had needed it. Hermione hadn't seen him since he'd returned after killing Smith-Burton and his friend Griff, and then he'd been exhausted, and taken himself straight to bed. He was gone in the morning.

Poppy wanted to fuss over him, and he was three times hugged, and cried over a little, before Dumbledore cleared his throat, and she remembered what they were there for. Harry was ordered to take off his clothes, leaving on only underpants. Hermione and Poppy had looked after him so often and so well, that Harry would not hurt their feelings by showing his annoyance, even though he would far rather have avoided this intrusion.

Poppy was doing the examination, checking Harry's body for signs of trauma, and finding none. There was the one obvious sign of severe trauma, but no-one had yet dared to comment on it to Harry. He now had the beginnings of white sideburns, looking odd against his tanned face. The rest of his hair was still jet black, and his body still looked that of a young man.

Dumbledore waited unobtrusively in a corner, and he thought, like Hermione, that Harry was not ageing normally. A very few powerful wizards and witches had abnormally long lives. Albus Dumbledore himself had recently celebrated his 160th birthday.

Poppy still thought of Harry as a young man in any case, if not a boy still, and didn't notice that his body was not showing his age. When she finally finished with the physical examination, she unpacked an array of devices for measuring all sorts of indicators of health.

"For goodness sake, Poppy," said Harry, "You're getting worse than John Rutledge! What _are_ all those?"

"One has to move with the times," said Madam Pomfrey, with dignity. She was now over eighty.

Hermione was at the desk, ready to write down figures. For a moment, Harry looked at the door, and Dumbledore wondered if he was planning to bolt.

Weight was measured first, and Madam Pomfrey scolded Harry for still being too thin. She told him that he had to eat more, that his captivity had only been three weeks, and he should have been able to make it up by now.

Harry only shrugged. It seemed to him that he was always more or less skinny, and there wasn't much he could do about it.

Poppy used her half dozen other devices, touching them to various portions of anatomy, before pulling out her Nisco monitor, which may have only had two figures, but those figures were so useful that they really rendered most of the other gadgets superfluous. "LV 115," she exclaimed to Hermione.

Hermione only nodded, "That's the same as a few years ago, no change."

Poppy wanted to discuss the unusual figure, but Hermione looked at Harry. He was looking as if the antics of the women were just a rather boring play that he had to sit through. She'd discuss the findings with Poppy later, without Harry around to put a blight on their speculations.

Poppy pulled out the final device. Another little gadget that came in two pieces, a round sensor device, and something that looked like a notepad.

"What's that?" asked Harry.

Hermione smiled at him. "You should know! You invented it. I wanted something that would give a history of broken bones, and you came up with that for me."

Harry had little reason to think that he suffered any broken bones that he didn't know about, and when Hermione asked what broken bones he had suffered in his life, and how long ago, he cooperated without protest. "Right arm, when I was twelve, left leg when I would have been twenty-one."

The device was touched to the bones of his face and head, to begin with, with no comment.

Then she started on other bones, and a long recitation began. "Right clavicle, 34 days ago, broken by trauma, healed by magic 30 days ago. Right humerus, 34 days ago, broken by trauma, healed by magic 30 days ago. Right forearm, 1. 36 years ago, broken by trauma, injured by magic, bones regrown, 2. 34 days ago, broken by trauma, healed by magic 30 days ago. Nothing on right hand. Left clavicle, 34 days ago, broken by trauma, healed naturally. Left humerus, 34 days ago, broken by trauma, healed by magic 30 days ago. Left forearm, 34 days ago, broken by trauma, healed by magic 30 days ago. Nothing on left hand. The monotonous recitation continued. Most of the ribs had been broken, his spine and pelvis were untouched, thighs were untouched, but both lower legs had been broken. The last was left lower leg, 1. 27 years ago, broken by trauma, healed naturally, 2. 34 days ago, broken by trauma, healed by magic 30 days ago. 3. 18 days ago, broken by magic, healed by magic 18 days ago."

Harry was staring at the wall, his expression more cold and remote than ever. No-one would look at him. Just 34 days ago he had apparently suffered a massive trauma, and had not been healed for four days. Harry was thinking that it had probably been his punishment for Griff, and now that he was reminded, there was something else. He looked at Madam Pomfrey, "Finished?"

She just nodded. She was trying not to cry, and Hermione was looking very hard at her notepad. Harry rose, clothed himself, and started out the door, Dumbledore following. Harry was forgetful of Dumbledore and was striding toward the Forbidden Forest, wanting to walk in the cool and the solitude.

"Harry!" called Dumbledore, "Slow down!"

Harry looked back. Albus who had always seemed immortal, was puffing, striving to keep up with him. "Sorry," said Harry, "I forgot!" and he turned back to Dumbledore, who said, "There's a park bench behind that tree, near the lake."

He slowed his steps to walk with the old man to the nearby seat.

Harry was staring out over the lake. After a time, Dumbledore said quietly, "Forgetfulness is a blessing sometimes."

"Mmm," said Harry, and after a time, "I think I nearly got away, you see. I knew that everything hurt and I couldn't move, but they must have got careless, because I was able to disapparate, and then I was outside somewhere, with my face in the grass. There was rain."

"And what happened?"

"I don't know what happened. The grass and the rain were real. But then I was back, and he was there again, speaking to me." He shuddered, and turned his head away, his face looking more cold and hard than ever.

Not far away, some students were at Quidditch practice. Harry was watching. He could no longer play Quidditch, not for a very long time because of a handicap acquired when he was just seventeen. He shrugged, "It's finished now, and I'm still alive, and I can still fly a broomstick!" And he turned to Dumbledore with a half grin, "Well, are you going to let me come back to work? Or do I have to go play somewhere else?"

Dumbledore smiled at him, Harry was pretty tough. "I'll talk to Poppy. And Hermione if she's still there. - I expect so, though."

Back in the hospital ward, Hermione was trying to soothe Poppy, who had started to cry. Hermione herself had tears in her eyes. "What he went through!" she said. But Hermione pointed out, "He was drugged - he probably didn't even feel it. And I reckon if he'd remembered, he never would have let you use the History Monitor."

Meantime, Harry decided not to worry about spectators, he wanted to fly his broomstick! By the time Albus Dumbledore returned to the hospital, he was already soaring into the air - a long way from the Quidditch playing students though, he knew he was a bit dangerous to be near when flying.

When Dumbledore found Madam Pomfrey in such distress, he was able to tell her to come to the window, and he pointed out to her where Harry flew at his usual breakneck speed, hurtling himself in a corkscrew, and then diving straight to the ground, before soaring up again into a loop the loop.

Hermione told Dumbledore that Harry seemed fine and could return to work, but she did go and find him before he left. There had been a collar bone that had apparently been missed when his keepers had healed all the other broken bones. She wanted to check the ribs, too, it had been hard to keep track of breakages and healings when there had been so many breakages. She wanted to make sure that it was fully healed.

Harry was patient. Yes, there had been a slight soreness in the shoulder but it was fine now, he said, and Hermione finally told him that there was a distinctly abnormal reading on the Nisco monitor, just so that he'd be prepared for comment if he saw another healer at any stage.

***chapter end***


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 10:_

Harry had not seen the Daily Prophet since he had somehow been abstracted from a Quidditch match. For he thought that was the last memory he had of normality, before the vague memories of faceless figures began. But now he read portions of the issues that had piled up in his office, until they came to an abrupt halt, presumably because his subscription had run out.

It seemed that there had been quite a fuss when he had disappeared. He was amused at a collection of letters to the Editor that thoroughly castigated the Ministry of Magic for not protecting him better. He knew they did their best, and maybe he should have cooperated, but he still disliked being followed around.

He met a lot of curiosity in the next few weeks, but a cool and remote air was usually sufficient to discourage questions, and when people did ask, he merely repeated that he remembered nothing.

He kept watching the newspapers. He wanted to know when the disappearance of Smith-Burton would come to light, but it did not seem to have been reported, even though he scanned through old issues that were in the library. He certainly was not going to betray that he knew anything about the man. Justified or not, he knew that he could easily be charged with murder, or at least with unlawful killing.

Murderer or not, the next time he was called to duty as a member of the Wizemgamot, just a few weeks after his return to his world, he felt not the slightest twinge of conscience as he played his part as if he were the most respectable and law-abiding person around. There was one incident that puzzled him. Mostly he was genuinely welcomed back by his peers, although many were curious, and a few asked the usual tactless questions which he fielded in his usual way. But two young wizards were pointing at him, and sniggering in such a fashion that he wondered what they knew or suspected.

Harry was glad to be alive, and started playing harder and more recklessly than ever.

One day, he bullied Severus Snape into going to a Quidditch Match with him. Snape could not manage to feign any great excitement, but Harry had him laughing. It was one of the delights of Harry's life to make Severus Snape laugh.

Margaret and Victoria's team won, with Margaret being the star of the match. It was one of the rare occasions when one team won, even though the other team's Seeker had caught the snitch.

Four days later, Severus Snape suddenly died, and Harry remembered Hagrid's words again_, It's all part of life. People live, and people die. And so do the animals and the birds. That's the way it is._

Severus had become old, and Harry looked around at the people he had known for so long. Professor McGonnagal was now retired, and in poor health. John Rutledge was dead. Professor Dumbledore seemed more tired by the day. Harry didn't know what he would do when Albus died. It seemed to him that Albus Dumbledore was his anchor in life.

**xx**

Regrettably, Harry still liked getting himself into muggle fights. There was nothing like a fight to make him feel tingling with life. One Friday evening, he took on too many opponents. There was a blow to the face, and for a critical moment, he was too dazed to make himself scarce when he should have done.

He was taken away by the muggle police with a half dozen others, and charged with 'Drunk and Disorderly.' Even though he was not in the slightest bit drunk, he knew that he had been fairly thoroughly disorderly. He was not particularly disturbed. The muggle policeman was a decent man, who just explained that there'd be a brief hearing in the morning, almost certainly a fine, and he'd be let go. He was behind bars, but that didn't worry him either. If he chose, he could vanish the bars, disapparate from within, or even turn into a hawk and slip between the bars. And no-one was coming at him with injections of tranquilliser.

He lay down on the narrow bed, slept for a while, but woke trembling after one of the nightmares that he now had so frequently. These days, they would often end with that voice that woke him, a gentle and tender voice, a voice whose owner he had killed. _Tears, Harry?_

It always took him a while to stop shaking, and afterwards, he found it difficult to sleep.

He spent the rest of the night making friends with the two policemen on duty, who were sufficiently bored that they were happy to yarn with the restless prisoner with the contagious grin. The shift changed and the new officers were introduced to him, Officer Sullivan and Officer Ramsbottom, but within a half hour, he knew them as Jack and Pete, who supplied him with a quite decent breakfast.

Harry had been relaxed, joking, in contrast to the other men he'd been fighting with. Four of the six had considerable hangovers, but even these were quite friendly with him now, in spite of various black eyes and other bruises. But now Jack wanted to put him in handcuffs, and while he should logically have known that, like the prison bars, he could vanish them if he chose, they had a different effect. He had tried to avoid it, promising that he would make no trouble, but the policeman said that he was sorry, it was regulations.

They handcuffed Harry last, leaving it as long as possible, but he stared at the constraints around his wrists in utmost horror. He was shaking and white-faced, trying to put on a cool facade, and failing utterly.

Jack went to his sergeant. The sergeant could scent trouble a mile away, and always preferred to avoid it. He came out of his office, saw this known fighter barely keeping control of his panic, and he issued orders. The handcuffs were taken off Harry. Harry went even whiter with relief, and suddenly dropped to the floor, sitting with head lowered, trying not to faint. He was better in a few minutes, but was furious with himself. He knew that it was his own fault that he was in this position, but his own reaction to the handcuffs around his wrists had been as much a surprise to himself as to anyone else.

Jack said, "Come on, Harry, you've got to stay close to me. Any trouble, and the cuffs will have to be put back on."

Still feeling ill, Harry just shook his head. "No trouble." And he looked up then, a slightly crooked grin, "I'm really a thoroughly respectable citizen."

The sergeant was still observing. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Still rather pale, Harry nodded.

"Ah," said the sergeant, suddenly knowing a lot more about the man. This was the kidnap victim that there'd been searching for only a couple of months ago. He had a quiet word with Jack and Pete, and they treated Harry with a consideration from then on that thoroughly irritated the other six prisoners.

As he'd been told, he was fined and released. Jebedee Shacklebolt met him as he left the courthouse. Harry was not very surprised. They did so like to keep an eye on him. Jebedee had nothing particularly to say, and was just there in case he needed help. One day, Harry thought, it was possible that the watching aurors might even come in useful, even though he still disliked being watched.

He tried to be more responsible after that. Being in trouble with the muggle police didn't sit well with his own image of himself as a respectable citizen. And he thought that James might disown him forever if he found out! The girls, of course, would think it a colossal joke!

**xx**

For a time, he was more subdued, but there was an emptiness in his life since Ginny died, and it needed to be filled.

Dumbledore quietly handed him a book one day, a new theory about a certain strange incident that had happened in Brazil. Out of the blue, Harry became absorbed in his studies again. Dumbledore loved working with him, he was such an apt pupil, and he was no longer just a pupil, if he ever had been. Harry had an offbeat vein running through him. He could come up with unexpected theories that could suddenly appear as if they were the obvious and natural explanation of a phenomenon. Albus wanted Harry to publish one theory that he developed. He felt it was a real breakthrough. But Harry's attention was already waning, and he never quite got around to it.

Before he lost his pupil, Dumbledore taught him one more thing. He led him to an empty clearing, and told him to look around.

Harry looked around. He could see nothing, and yet, there was something. He paused, and it was as if he felt the air. He stared in a certain direction, and suddenly spun around, and saw Joe Marsh, the Defence professor behind him, and he could clearly see the bluish veil of an invisibility cloak. It was like scales fell from his eyes, and now he could see another Professor, Nick Bagshott, as well, and Sturgis, one of the security guards, looking quite middle-aged now, was quietly standing in the direction that he had been originally looking.

He laughed, "Nick, Sturgis, Joe."

They cheered for him. Seeing a person when wearing an invisibility cloak was a rare skill, and one that neither Nick, Sturgis or Joe shared, try as they might.

_**xx**_

It was now nearly three months since he had returned to his world after being a captive. More often, he would find people giving him odd looks, sometimes sniggers, or suggestive comments of a flavour he wasn't used to, and he started to suspect that certain details of his captivity had leaked out in spite of his efforts to keep them very quiet.

He hated it, but didn't really know what it was all about. He trusted Amelia and Kingsley not to have released any hints of rape, and he didn't know about the video that had been sent to Dumbledore and was now destroyed. He thought that he and Ron had been thorough when they had destroyed all evidence of sexual molestation, and, of course, Smith-Burton and Griff had been killed and their bodies vanished. There were the four wizards who had displayed him in that park, of course, but surely it would have been in their own interests to keep very quiet. Rape of a wizard was rated in their world as a more serious crime than murder, kidnap, or torture.

Nick Bagshott, who taught Arithmancy, was only in his mid twenties. He was thin, dark, and wore glasses. He was brilliant at his difficult subject, but was also sociable and popular. Harry saw a lot of him. But Nick was looking thoroughly uncomfortable when he came to Harry's office one Monday after lessons. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said, "But I think you have to know about this."

Harry looked at him curiously as he was handed a plastic bag with something in it. He took out the video, and paled.

"It's a muggle video. Do you know how to use it?" asked Nick, and added, "Not here, it won't work at Hogwarts, I'll help you if you like." Muggle videos and their use were not widespread in the wizarding world, but they were becoming more used just lately, especially among a certain fraternity.

"I know how to use it," said Harry quietly.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Nick again, "But they're all around. - I've been offered one three times!"

He looked at Harry's face, and quickly left the office. Harry was staring at the video. This was going to be bad news.

Luckily Harry had no other duties that evening, and he took the video to his own home. He locked the door of his loungeroom before inserting the video into its slot. He wanted no-one else to see this.

It was worse than he could have imagined. There was a title, _Harry Potter learns a new way,_ and there was music before a picture came into focus. It was the clear identification of himself, which he had seen before, and then there was a part he had not seen before, _'Harry Potter is the most powerful wizard in the world, and I am going to use him for my pleasure. But first he must be weakened. And first he must be trained to take potions to induce docility, and to keep him unconscious or barely conscious, until he can no longer resist, or does not want to resist. I am going to have his body, but if things go the way I want, he will soon be enjoying the act as much as I do.' _

He saw his own chest and genitals exposed, and he saw as the masked wizard ran a tongue down the penis. Harry felt ill, and even though he was the only one present, his face burned with embarrassment. Then there was the scene where he had been bled to weaken him, to a gentle play of music in the background. This was something else new to Harry.

Clothes were done up again, and Harry was lifted to a high bed in the middle of the room. The camera slowly scanned his face, now very pale. The voice spoke again. _'He has been weakened by loss of blood. Now we will feed him the Docility Potion.'_

Harry was seen from the back, apparently drinking a Potion. His forehead creased. Was that really him? He had been very sick once, and had given Hermione and Poppy an enormous amount of trouble by refusing to take either food or potions. He didn't think that he would have been so immediately docile, and the figure in the picture, although sagging a bit, no longer looked like an unconscious man.

But the next scene was definitely himself. He had seen this scene before. There had been certain alterations, though - certain deletions. Nothing was shown of injections of tranquilliser.

_'He is entirely helpless, totally at my mercy!' _

Harry had to admit to himself that the next scenes had a genuine erotic power, although his face was burning, and again he felt sick. There was the washing of his body and then the scene turned even more frankly sexual. He would have liked to stop watching, but if copies of the video were widespread, as Nick had said, he needed to know. But he suddenly remembered being sick when a certain music started on the video when he saw it at Smith-Burton's place, and he prudently stopped the film and fetched a bucket. He already felt distinctly ill.

He wiped his forehead, and restarted the film. He saw his own body explored again, and a kiss, and there was no doubt of the identity of that unconscious body. His face crimsoned again as he saw the next bit. _'Look, he responds!'_ the delighted voice had said.

The scene dissolved for a moment, and music swelled, and instead of hints of returning consciousness, and yet a third injection of tranquilliser, ornate writing crossed the screen, the title again: _Harry Potter learns a new way._

The next part was shown in full, as Smith-Burton lovingly explored the body of the naked man as he lay prone. It went on, and Harry saw Griff again prepare for the rape. The camera had lingered on a large and erect penis, and his own bottom was shown, and Harry groaned. How many people were watching this? How could he ever live this down?

Griff was seen trying to push his erect penis into the man that lay utterly helpless across the side of the bed in front of him. That was when Griff had lost that penis that had been displayed to the camera. But now was shown a different ending to the story.

The camera moved back, and the vision went out of focus, and a large man successfully sodomised a smaller, black-haired man.

Music swelled, and a scene of crashing waves appeared. The ornate writing was shown again. _Harry Potter is very obedient, now, and he is beginning to enjoy a new way_.

Out of focus, a black haired man with a scarred face was shown drinking a potion, as loving hands caress him.

There were more scenes of sodomy then, all rather distant, and consistently out of focus, music swelling and dying away in the background. The scenes showed the recipient of the attentions apparently more and more alert, and displaying enjoyment. In the very last scene, the supposed Harry was begging for more, and was shown enjoying three different wizards, one after another.

The film concluded. _'Harry Potter has learned a new way. Now he is loving our love-making. We have all had him now, and he has forgotten that he ever had another life than being a love-toy!'_

And finally, a very long close-up of his own face, scar clearly shown, apparently totally unconscious again, or it could have been interpreted as sleeping. Gradually it faded out, and the scene of crashing waves reappeared. There were no credits.

Harry automatically rewound the video and locked it in a drawer, adding some magic to seal it safe. Since his late teens, Harry's own spells appeared to be impossible to break, so it was totally safe from interference. And then he put his head in his hands, and felt very, very ill. What on earth could he do? The sniggers and sly comments he had been seeing increasingly in the last month were explained. His last ordeal had been blunted by drugs. But now Harry Potter wondered how he could go on living in his world.

At last, slowly, wearily, he got up, and walked out to the horse paddock. Seawind and Toby were both gone now, and Sheba no longer jumped fences seeking a stallion. But there was Tambo, and there were three other young horses, her foals of the last few years. They were good looking animals, all of them, often ridden by his employees and some of their children. John's muggle sons, in particular, were very keen riders, although young yet. There were two ponies in a separate paddock, owned by John, that they mostly used.

He stood surrounded by his horses, old Sheba taking pride of place, and baring her teeth at the younger horses who also wanted to press close.

It was still light, and he thought of riding, but he felt very old and tired that day, and only turned and walked slowly back inside.

He poked his head into the kitchen to tell the cook he'd like a meal that night. Harry usually ate with the live-in employees when he was home, but this time he said he'd have it in the dining room, by himself.

He slept at his home that night, but instead of the usual nightmares of confinement and helplessness, his dreams were of his lost wife, Ginny, and he woke sobbing into his pillow.

_**xx**_

Harry Potter was a courageous man, but he had never needed his courage more than he did at this time in his life.

In the morning, he dressed and went to work, exactly the same as he always did. And if he was quiet and wore a remote expression, he still taught as well as ever. He even hailed Nick and thanked him, saying that Nick had been right, he had needed to know. Nick was acutely embarrassed, but blurted, "It was an actor, most of it, I could see."

Harry smiled wryly, and said, "I wonder how many will see - or care."

It was that time of year preceding exams, and his time was taken up with helping prepare those students who were to sit for OWLs and NEWTs. There were no comments or sniggers from the students, and Harry assumed that the film had not so far become known among them. That was likely to change after the holidays, and he thought that James, who condemned him if he only appeared with a black eye, might never forgive him.

The Ministry of Magic knew about the video long before Harry did, and only waited to see what he would do. The films were all over the place, there was nothing now that could be done to stop them. And there was something that Harry didn't yet know. Slightly modified, the video had made its way into the muggle world, and had become very popular there, too. The problem was that those scenes of Harry really did pack a powerful erotic punch, far more than the pallid and artificial acting that is the more usual stuff of pornography. And it was not by any means only homosexual males that felt the eroticism of those scenes.

But Harry only went about his usual business, did his usual stint of spell-breaking on Wednesday afternoon, trying to ignore the discomfort of Trevor, whom, he suspected, had seen the video also. And on Saturday, he braved the crowds to go see his daughters play Quidditch as usual. He thought that Margaret and Victoria didn't yet know about the videos, but when he greeted their respective boyfriends, he knew immediately that they had seen the film.

It was difficult to forget his preoccupation that day, although usually he became totally involved in the game, to the irritation and occasional amusement of the pair of aurors who were assigned to cover his back on these occasions. They were on duty, and didn't dare follow the game.

Harry never felt guilty. He didn't want aurors following him, but had given up asking Kingsley to have him left alone. After the kidnapping, he was more heavily protected than ever before.

He wasn't protected against everything, though, and suddenly whirled around, making the aurors jump to attention. A young wizard in dressy purple robes was clutching a burnt hand to his chest, gazing at Harry accusingly, tears leaking from his eyes. Harry may have had to tolerate whispers and comments, he was certainly not going to tolerate a caressing hand on his bottom!

It was only weeks away from the end of the school year, and Harry asked Hermione not to book in any patients for him over the summer holidays. He thought he would flee abroad and enjoy the company of his son while he still could. He was convinced that when James became aware of the video, he would never be forgiven.

Ron knew about the video, although he didn't contemplate watching it. But he was very uncomfortable around Harry, and Harry felt his embarrassment. Would he never be treated naturally again? Hermione was all right. Ron hadn't told her.

Hermione was concerned for him. She had always been perceptive, and could see that Harry wasn't himself. He often had dark circles around his eyes, and she suspected that he wasn't sleeping well, though he seemed to have as much restless energy as ever. She suddenly smiled. She knew what Harry needed, and she started to make certain plans. Ron wasn't supportive. His sister, Ginny, had been Harry's wife - the idea of finding a replacement was difficult for him to accept.

The last weekend before the school holidays, Harry went to visit his cousin Dudley. He gave them no warning. Although he had not been subject to any death attempts for a while, there was no point in forgetting security entirely.

But Dudley stared at him. "How could you do it? People know that you're my cousin! You've disgraced us all!"

Harry just asked quietly, "What?" and Dudley went to his office and returned with a video. It looked a bit different from the video that Harry had seen before, but the glossy cover showed unmistakably, a picture of his own naked back, a hand on his bottom. And there was the title, _Harry Potter learns a new way._

Harry was still in the entry hall, and only said quietly, "Part of it is acted, and part of it when I was unconscious. I'm sorry you feel disgraced." And he turned, walked out of the house, and disapparated.

_**xx**_

On the first day of the school holidays, Harry had his girls visit. They each had boyfriends, and had wanted to bring them, but Harry refused. His home was still hidden, but the more people who knew about it, the less hidden it was. Adam joined them for a short time, too. Adam was one of the few young wizards who had not seen the humiliating film, but Adam was quiet and serious, and somehow no-one had even thought of offering it to him. The twins didn't know either, so there was some respite for Harry. He suspected some of his employees knew, even though he was never treated with anything less than respect.

On the second day of the school holidays, Harry and James started travelling, just the two of them. They visited France to begin with. But Harry quickly found a problem he should have thought about earlier. James was only thirteen, he could not be left alone in a hotel room in a foreign city for an evening, but Harry Potter thought it unthinkable to do without sex for more than a couple of days at a time. From the time of his first experience, and with the obvious exceptions of illness, and in those first terrible weeks when Ginny had died, he had never gone without for more than a very few days. Ginny had been a good match, and he had never been deprived in his marriage, either.

But James disapproved of his father being unfaithful to his dead wife, and would not be happy to be left with a minder for hours at a time. While Harry may have been good at finding girlfriends, it nearly always took a little while to find what he wanted.

He finally resorted to leaving James for an hour in the charge of hotel staff, and regularly visited the high priced Paris brothel that a taxi driver had suggested. He wanted the best brothel, because he thought that the best brothels would be the ones with the best girls. The best girls to Harry, were the ones who loved sex as much as he did, whether or not they were the most beautiful. It was expensive, but Harry had never had to concern himself much with money.

James was surprisingly tolerant, to Harry's relief, but Victoria had explained about sex to James. Harry's redheaded girls looked like pure Weasleys, but they had something from Harry as well, and Victoria explained from her own experience. That sex was like food and drink. It was a physical need, and a frequent need. Harry having other women was not any disrespect to their mother.

On the third day in France, an auror appeared, watching Harry from the other side of the street. The next day Harry and James were gone without trace, and were not located again by the Ministry until they chose to come back, just a fortnight before the start of the new school year.

Harry and James had a wonderful time together, finding that after all, they had more in common than they had differences. They did a lot of shopping in exotic locations, and sent the goods home with a wave of Harry's wand. James tried to learn the technique, but it wasn't a recognised spell, and Harry failed when he tried to teach it. They did all the tourist things, too, and all the activities that could be enjoyed by the young and active.

Harry's forty-ninth birthday was spent in Turkey. They had also gone to Asia, visited Ben in Australia, and toured the pyramids of Europe. James got tired sometimes, but Harry never seemed to tire. And from wherever they were, every day or two, Harry would visit the brothel in Paris. One of Harry's unique abilities was to apparate thousands of miles at a time, and it seemed to him more desirable to return again and again to his favourite girls, than to risk a new place closer to wherever he was.

He was being very well behaved while he had his young son with him, and indulged in no muggle fights, and no risky activity of any sort - unless one counts his casual apparations from one continent to another on the other side of the globe.

***chapter end***


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted, belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 11:_

There was a pile of mail waiting for Harry when they arrived home. His secretary had put the urgent and personal letters aside, with one right at the top. The letter had been sent a week before. Professor Dumbledore was sick, and wanted to see Harry before he died. Harry hurriedly checked through his other mail, in case there was any more recent news, told James where he was going, and disapparated straight to his own office at Hogwarts.

Albus was still alive, in the hospital, being looked after by Poppy, and by Madam Borthwick, the nurse who would be taking over the hospital when Madam Pomfrey finally left.

Albus Dumbledore was showing an accepting serenity at his own approaching death, but he had wanted to see Harry, who was dear to him. His wife had been dead for very many years, he had long since outlived his peers, and had no family left, except for that of the school he had ruled for so long. Harry Potter was like a son to Albus Dumbledore, and it was as a son that Harry sat by his side, talked with him a while, and finally waited as Professor Dumbledore closed his eyes for the last time.

Harry had thought it appropriate that Albus be buried in the school grounds, but the school governors allowed him no say, and Albus Dumbledore was buried at Hogsmeade.

Within the week, a new headmaster arrived at Hogwarts, appointed by the twelve school governors. He was English, but had spent the last several years as assistant headmaster at Durmstrang, a European school of magic. Professor Bernard Smythe, just a few days after Dumbledore's funeral, informed Professor Harry Potter that unfortunately his skills would not be needed for the next school year, although, of course, he could apply if any of the individual subject professorships became available.

He found that Hagrid had also lost his Professorship, but was allowed to stay on as grounds-keeper. Harry offered him a home at his place if he ever wanted it, but Hagrid, still looking exactly the same as ever, said that he would not leave his home.

Harry felt no great upset at being fired. There seemed to be so many losses coming these days. He'd had to put down his mare, Sheba, that morning. And Hogwarts would not be the same without Dumbledore in any case. So he quietly packed his things from the rooms that he had first moved into at the age of just twenty-two, waved his wand to send his luggage home, and did the rounds of those staff who had not gone away for the holidays. Harry Potter said good-bye to Hogwarts.

_**xx**_

James would be going back to school in just a week. His new school things had been purchased, but Harry was going to have to tell him about the video. He needed to be prepared. Harry knew how uncomfortable the victim of teasing and bullying can be made to feel. For most of his own years at school, Draco Malfoy had given Harry as hard a time as possible. To have a father who'd starred in a porno movie! Could there be any better ammunition if you wanted to make someone miserable?

He was having trouble. The whole thing was so acutely embarrassing to himself that he still felt physically sick when he thought about it.

Victoria and Margaret came visiting the next day. They had just learned that their father was home, and had some idea of the difficulties he was currently facing. They were strolling together toward a thick piece of woodland, when Victoria told him casually, "We told James about that video, by the way, Dad. We thought he should know before he goes back to school."

"The video?" Harry queried cautiously.

"That's right, the porno one, with the bad acting. The reason you're no longer a professor at Hogwarts."

Harry was looking at the ground, red-faced and uncomfortable, but there was no doubt that the twins had done him an enormous favour. "Thank you," he said awkwardly.

They took his arms, one on each side, and squeezed, and Victoria said, "Don't worry, Dad, you can console yourself that even as a victim of rape, you're the best!"

Margaret chimed in, "And definitely most sexy!"

Harry stared at them in amazement, and then spluttered into laughter. "You always did have a unique way of looking at things!"

But James was very uncomfortable with him for the next few days, and finally asked if he could stay with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione until school started. He could go to school then with their son, Ben Weasley, who would be starting at Hogwarts. And it was arranged that way.

_**xx**_

Harry resumed his spell-breaking work the Wednesday after school resumed. He had a very large list of patients, as he had not been doing the work for two months. He was tired and hungry afterward, and he dropped in at a muggle bakery and treated himself to a large afternoon tea, before going to see Draco Malfoy, as he had been especially requested.

The last time that Harry had been to Draco's place it had been with Ginny and Julia, and it was to a large function. They had left very early because Harry had started to feel unsafe. And he suddenly remembered that Smith-Burton had been there, too. He doubted that Draco would attack him, but took some precautions. He put a charm on himself that he had developed long ago with Professor Flitwick at Hogwarts. No-one could apparate within a five yard radius of himself. He also did something unprecedented. He told Jebedee, the auror who was working with him that day, where he was going.

Jebedee was astounded, Harry had never cooperated with his unwanted bodyguards before. And his report to Kingsley meant that no less than five aurors were stationed around the Malfoy mansion when Harry apparated close to the front door.

Draco welcomed him into his loungeroom, and a maid came with offerings of food and coffee. Harry declined them all, saying politely that he'd just eaten. Draco wasn't fooled, and raised an eyebrow, "Mad-eye Potter, eh?"

But Harry just shrugged, "Do you blame me?"

They talked casually for a while, and asked about each other's children. Draco had a son, Lucius, probably in his mid twenties by now, Harry thought.

Finally, Draco got down to business. "There's some information that has come to light. I think you should know - a certain video."

"I've seen the video," Harry interrupted.

"Not this one, you haven't," said Draco, "I'm not talking about the one made for pornography. This is the video that it was made from."

Harry was silent. Draco waited.

"Where did you get it?" Harry finally asked.

"I paid a lot of money for it - it's an investment."

"An investment!" said Harry incredulously.

"An investment - the original video that was put together during the time you were in their hands."

Harry said nothing, only wanting to be far away.

"I think you should see it," continued Draco, "But mind you, this is a copy. The original, together with some other items, is at Gringotts, so don't think of destroying it just because you don't like its contents!"

Harry sighed, "I suppose I'd better watch," and he slumped into a chair next to Draco, as Draco started the video.

For the first time, he saw the master video in its entirety. The first part that was new to him was the resistance he had put up to taking Potions. He commented, "I didn't think I could have been so well behaved as was shown in that other one."

"No, that was the actor."

Harry sat through the scenes of torture when they were trying to train him to take the potion with a cold, unmoved face.

Draco half watched the video, and half watched his guest. He had tremendous respect for Harry Potter, even though he was still not above having a malicious dig at him now and then.

Harry had seen the initial sex scenes with Griff twice now, although he had to remember not to betray that he'd seen the one at Smith-Burton's place. When Draco commented on the maiming of Griff, he had to remember that it was supposed to be new to him.

"How on earth did you do that?" asked Draco.

Harry just shook his head, and suggested: "Maybe there was someone else there?"

The next part was new to him - the days when he lay terribly injured after he was punished for Griff. He saw himself vanish, and then discovered again on the back lawn, as he knew now from the commentary.

"You nearly got away," commented Draco. Harry was looking like an icy statue, and made no comment.

_'Day nine,'_ and Harry now saw the context in which the words had been spoken that always had him wake from his nightmare, _Tears, Harry?_

And then they were trying to get him to take food, so that he would survive a while longer.

"They took advantage of your greatest weaknesses," commented Draco, "Ice-cream and women."

Harry didn't answer. The video showed him being fed the ice-cream, and then only the second word he had said the whole time, when he had breathed the name of his dead wife. Harry's hands clenched, but again his face showed no expression.

Draco was mocking himself - he was Draco Malfoy, a manipulator of people, but it had brought tears to his own eyes the first time he had seen that.

_'He is my toy! He is here for my pleasure!'_ And then there was the scene where Smith-Burton started fondling again, and his hands were burnt.

"You still managed to resist, even then," said Draco, admiring.

Harry made an effort, and said casually, "I prefer women."

_ 'Day sixteen. He burned my hands yesterday. So now I'm going to get my pleasure from him in a different way. And it's an interesting experiment. How much can he hear, feel? I'm going to get him conditioned so that he reacts to a particular piece of music as though he were being tortured.' _

Harry braced himself, he knew what was coming next, but to show it meant that he had seen the video before. He wanted to stay unmoved, he always hated Draco seeing him at a disadvantage. He couldn't help himself. As soon as that music started, his body convulsed and he only managed to take a couple of steps toward the door before he was violently ill.

He had expected Draco to be gleeful, but Draco stopped the video and waved his wand at the mess on the carpet, which became clean again. He even apologised, "Sorry, Harry, I should have warned you."

Harry was leaning against the wall, white and sweaty, and made no answer.

Draco muted the sound of the video, and more torture was shown, but he was obviously looking for a particular part. And he glanced at Harry. "I think they've finished with the Tchaikovski, and I want you to hear this," and Harry braced himself as Draco flicked a button and the sound resumed.

_ 'It works! He obviously felt the pain, even though this time it was only the music. He was returning to consciousness though, and it appears it might be too dangerous to do it again. But we'll use the torture with the music again tomorrow, just to fix it permanently in his mind. If he survives this imprisonment, it might make a good party trick! Play the music, and watch Harry Potter react!' _

Draco stopped the video again. "Be warned," said Draco. "If this video ever gets out, and it won't be by me, there'll always be someone who thinks it's clever to play that music. And it's a common bit of music, you're likely to hear it now and then anyway. What you're going to have to do is play that music over and over until you no longer react to it. I've got a copy here somewhere, I'll let you have it."

"What's the music?" asked Harry.

"What's the music?" said Draco in a tone of incredulity. "That's Tchaikowski - The 1812 Overture." He abruptly reverted to his normal sneer, "But you always were the uncultured type."

The dig called up a half grin from Harry, even if his face was still pale. Draco had always attacked his weaknesses.

The next segment was of the final rape, and it showed Harry's leg being broken. Harry had seen this segment before, but it had been in fast forward, without the sound. "He's obviously still terrified of you," commented Draco.

"Pity he wasn't just a bit more terrified," said Harry, trying to sound unmoved, as the man was shown in the rhythmic motions of sex.

And in spite of all his attempts at cool control, his face flamed and he felt sick again, as the camera zoomed in and the wizard spoke_. 'This is how Harry Potter will be returned to his friends. Smears of semen around his anus - and look, how perfect! There is blood! He has the marks of his virginity still on him!' _

There was a pause, and then another segment. Four wizards were on a raised platform. Two held the bedraggled, unconscious figure of Harry Potter. The sound of this part was confused, as if it was taken a fair way from the action, but the picture was clear, and close. The wand of a wizard was seen pointing at Harry, and his body could be seen jerking in agony. And a second time, and the head was coming up, the teeth were bared against the pain, and suddenly the wizard who had been holding the wand, was cradling a maimed hand instead.

"That was the most incredible thing I've ever seen!" said Draco, stopping the video again. "To fight while actually under the Cruciatus Curse, and to fight back like that!"

"They forgot," said Harry in a cold tone, "I was sufficiently drugged that I could scarcely feel it - a bit pointless really, all those beatings and torture, and they first anaesthetised the victim!"

But Draco was remembering that he had been violently ill as soon as that music started. He may not have consciously felt the pain, he may not remember the pain, but he had certainly felt it. He started up the video again, and there was the sound of Ron's voice, _'Harry, disapparate!'_ And Harry Potter disapparated. Stun spells flew, the wizards dropped, and there was general confusion for a moment before the film came to its end.

"Well?" said Draco.

"It explains a few things," said Harry, non-committally.

Draco leaned toward him, and even though they were alone, he lowered his voice, "You know I have a very good knowledge of the law - I defend wizards sometimes at trials."

Harry, as a member of the Wizemgamot, knew this.

"If you get into trouble, like if they find out you killed Andrew, come to me. I can help you probably better than anyone else."

Harry, with an effort, kept his face unmoved. "Andrew?" he asked.

"Andrew Smith-Burton, he vanished the day after you escaped."

"Then I guess if he had anything to do with it, he cleared out," said Harry, casually. "It was certainly nothing to do with me, I wasn't in very good shape for a week or two!"

Draco just nodded. "Remember what I said."

_**xx**_

Harry strode down the driveway to the gates leading to Malfoy's mansion, and turned into the road, still walking.

He was disturbed. The video had explained a few things, as he had said. He had so nearly escaped, and at that stage, he had not suffered the indignity of rape. Although he did not feel himself forever disgraced because his body had been humiliated, he certainly would rather it hadn't happened! And there were other people - it seemed many others, who did indeed seem to feel that he was forever disgraced.

He had called for Ginny. Would he ever get over losing his Ginny? And he strode faster than ever, blindly, down the road outside Draco's house.

Two of the aurors followed him. The others went back to report in. Usually Harry would have disapparated. This was unusual behaviour. He was looking pale, upset.

Harry had forgotten that any such thing as aurors existed, and he had certainly forgotten that he was sometimes subject to Death Curses unexpectedly being thrown at him. He was entirely engrossed in his own thoughts.

Draco had virtually accused him of killing Smith-Burton, but he could not possibly have any evidence. He'd tried to ensure that he was known to be still too sick to go after anyone. There was another thing - it sounded like they'd been going to release him in any case. Not that it made much difference to anything. But to have escaped had given him back just a little self-respect. Now it seemed as if he had been allowed to escape. Or they were planning to let him go, still messy from rape. He shuddered and suddenly wheeled to the side of the road, and was sick again.

Harry was sitting by the side of the narrow country road, head in hands, still feeling ill, when Trevor came to him. Harry didn't even notice him until he spoke, although he had spent a lifetime having to be constantly wary. But now Trevor had just walked up to him and surprised him. And even then he was indifferent.

"Are you ill?" Trevor asked, "Do you want us to take you home?"

Harry just looked at him, frowning. "I forgot I was being followed."

"You let us know where you were going. It sounded like you thought you could be in danger."

"No danger," Harry said, getting up wearily, "And there's no need to follow me any more." But then he remembered his manners, "Thank you though. It did occur to me that there might be danger, but Draco's all right."

"You were sick - could you have been poisoned?"

Harry half grinned, "I'm Mad-Eye Potter, remember? I had nothing to eat or drink at the Malfoy place."

The aurors glanced at each other, uncertain. Harry said, "Leave me alone tonight, Trevor. I'm just going to walk a little," and he set off again down the road.

Trevor looked at Mark, and they dropped back a bit, but still followed him, until he noticed, and disapparated.

Harry Potter prowled the streets of London, still wearing his cape. He was not especially looking for a fight this night. He just walked, only half aware of his surroundings.

Back at the Ministry, Kingsley was still on duty. Harry Potter, porn star or not, was still of considerable value to the Ministry. And Kingsley knew of Amelia's plans - for years she had wanted to garner prestige for her Ministry by having him do work overseas - and now he was no longer teaching at Hogwarts, she had begun to think that her plan was coming closer to fruition. Kingsley made a careful selection, and some of his aurors were put on alert. They might be working late that night.

An hour later, a report came in to Kingsley. Harry was still walking, not taking the slightest notice of his surroundings, in a dangerous muggle area near the London docks. Harry had told Trevor that he wanted to be left alone, but Kingsley had not the slightest intention of leaving him to be possibly hurt or killed. Harry was to be closely watched, and he called in the half dozen aurors whom Harry did not know by sight, and gave them careful instructions.

Even these were a risk. When Harry noticed aurors close to him, he usually disapparated, and four of these aurors were young men and women whom Harry had taught at Hogwarts.

The muggle police were also contacted by some very important government officials. If Harry Potter was seen, he was absolutely not to be interfered with, but a number was to be called.

Jack and Pete at their desks, scratched their heads. Harry Potter was obviously a very important person, and they wondered just who he was. He had seemed friendly enough when he had laughed and joked with them that night not long ago when they had locked him up, but he had some very important influence on his side, or, at least, watching over him. They batted around a few theories.

Two hours later, and Harry still hadn't noticed that there were a couple of aurors on his tail. A man and a woman, trying to act as if they were involved in each other, but getting thoroughly fed up. They were not used to sustained walking at Harry's fast pace.

Harry strode along the footpath, head down, not paying attention, until he almost walked straight into a gang of youths out this night for a bit of fun. There were jeers and they started to surround him.

The aurors came quickly nearer, ready to defend their charge, but Harry wasn't in the mood for a fight right now, and he merely stepped swiftly back, ducked into a doorway, and silently disapparated, not far away though. Wasn't there a pair of muggles behind him? He would interfere if the youths thought to attack them. He put a charm on the boots of the gang, just on general principles. Those boots would never be used to kick a human.

He watched, inconspicuous in a dark doorway, as the youths first searched for their original target, and then switched their attention to the couple, who had retreated a little, but were still in sight. The two withdrew closer to his hiding place, and he suddenly noticed that one held a wand to her side. Aurors, then, following him. Well, they'd be able to look after themselves, and Harry disapparated, reappearing in a deserted alley that led off a street where there were several lively pubs.

He remembered that he should have some dinner, but he just picked at it, and drank his beer, eventually abandoning his meal, and starting to solidly drink instead. He still had no plans, no firm intentions of doing anything, but he also felt as if he had nowhere that he wanted to go, and nothing that he wanted to do. When he left that pub, it was only to find another and drink for a time there, and yet another.

Kingsley was sitting at his desk all this time, beginning to wonder if Harry had, after all, gone home. Somehow he didn't think so. He thought that his erratic charge was looking for trouble, and the aurors had been told to be very careful, to watch, but not to interfere unless absolutely necessary.

Finally, a report came in from the muggle police, and Kingsley wondered what on earth Harry was doing sitting in a Gay Bar.

Harry hadn't noticed that he was sitting in a Gay Bar. It was just a pub, and he was just quietly drinking. Others had noticed him though, and the two male aurors sitting at a nearby table watched as he was approached. In spite of scars and slightly hollow cheeks, in spite of the new touches of white in his hair, Harry was an attractive man. But he only said something briefly, and the large man who had approached him, retreated.

Harry still stared into the distance, but when he went back to the bar for a drink, he was using a cane to stop himself from staggering off to the side. Harry was beginning to be very drunk, and was no longer walking in a straight line.

The aurors didn't see the large man have a brief word with the barman, and money change hands, but they noticed when Harry took a sip from his new drink, and stopped, frowning at it.

He raised his head, looking around, taking in his surroundings for the first time, and his gaze focussed on the large man waiting at the bar, watching him. The aurors watched in surprise as Harry rose, took his drink, went to the large man, and poured it all over his head.

The man said, "Hey!" in surprised indignation.

Harry said, "I feel like a fight. Do you want to fight?" The man who had organised for his drink to be drugged, recoiled, and declined.

Everyone was watching and listening now. Harry said softly, accusingly, "You drugged my drink. I think you owe me a favour - and I want to fight!"

The large man seemed to shrink, looking to the left and the right, seeking his escape from the man who challenged him.

"You're twice as big as him, Bill - why don't you take him on?" called someone from the corner. "Maybe you can knock him out that way!" Bill's liking for drugging the drinks of those who declined his favours, was known to him.

"I'm smaller than you, and I'm drunk besides," said Harry tauntingly, and his words were, indeed, slightly slurred. "And I really want a fight."

But Bill only looked more alarmed.

"No? Well, if you're sure then," said Harry, dropping his eyes lower.

Bill suddenly clutched his middle and bolted for the toilet, and Harry smiled slightly, before turning, relying on his cane, and left the pub.

The aurors quickly rose and followed him, although one said to the other, "Do you really think he _needs_ our protection?"

Harry was leaning against the wall, half hidden inside a doorway, next to the pub, as the two left. He was feeling distinctly the worse for wear, but noted that Eli Shrewsbury and Zack Bradbury were apparently now aurors. He had now spotted four of the aurors that Kingsley had sent out.

He wasn't particularly concerned, but he did think he'd best make sure that he didn't pass out, either from sheer drunkenness, or because he was stupid enough to get himself knocked out if he found his fight. He didn't fancy waking to find that the Ministry had seized the opportunity to check him over again. It was like he was a dangerous zoo animal or something, that had to be knocked out before he could be examined!

Zack and Eli were looking around, and Zack suddenly spotted Harry right behind them, leaning against the wall, looking more alert than he had all night. "You're aurors now. Congratulations," Harry said, his words still slightly slurred.

Zack, since they'd been spotted anyway, said persuasively, "Come on, Mr. Potter, why don't you let us take you home?"

Harry just continued leaning against the wall. He was very drunk now, and he said what he felt, "I've never trusted aurors. Or the Ministry. I'll make my own way home, and not before I'm ready," and he vanished in front of their eyes.

_"Damn!"_ said one, and the other said, "He doesn't take much notice of the prohibition on apparating while unfit, does he?"

They went back to report in to Kingsley, and Kingsley, too, swore. The Ministry's pet wizard was an awful lot of trouble.

Harry had disapparated while drunk and leaning against a wall, so it was no wonder that he went sprawling when he arrived in the middle of a deserted park. His head was spinning, and common sense was striving to get through. He'd get himself into big trouble if he apparated as drunk as this, and he weaved and staggered his way along the adjoining street, until he found a small hotel, where he booked himself a room, and passed out safely in a bed.

Meantime, aurors reported to Kingsley. Harry was thoroughly drunk and looking for a fight, someone had probably tried to drug him, he now knew Zack and Eli were aurors, and he had said that he didn't trust aurors or the Ministry. Kingsley stayed at work long after his charge was sound asleep, waiting to hear that Harry was fighting somewhere, injured or maybe in prison again.

***chapter end***


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. _.

_Chapter 12:_

A couple of days later, in Harry's mail was a tape, _The 1812 Overture,_ and he remembered what Draco had advised, 'Play that music over and over until you no longer react to it.' It was sense, and Harry decided he'd better act on it.

He went to Sirius Black's place, though. He wanted privacy for this little exercise. Harry played that music over and over. The desensitization process didn't seem to be working very well. After the first few times, he stopped being physically sick when those crashing chords started, but even after playing it through many times, he always felt an awful jolt run through his body whenever it started.

He persevered, trying again every day, even though he spent each night in the grip of nightmares. It just didn't seem to be working. Harry Potter thought he was weak.

The following Wednesday, Hermione saw how tired he was looking, though he did his work quickly, with his usual efficiency. A new Ministry 'Observer' was rostered to him this day, and he greeted Zack.

Kingsley tried to keep as many as possible of his aurors unknown to Harry, but Zack had been sprung, so he thought he might as well assign him to this regular duty for a while. It was an easy job, and usually given to the younger aurors. Their usefulness to Harry was even policy. It was part of their job to cut off the frequently overly effusive thank yous of the patients, and to firmly walk them out the door. Kingsley thought that Harry was less likely to take it into his head to refuse to tolerate the Ministry Observers if they were useful to him.

Hermione had finally been told about the pornography tape, and knew part of what was bothering her friend. She suggested to Harry that they go to the pub afterward for a while, and Ron would join them. Harry agreed, and they talked generally for a while. Hermione was a very sensible lady, and she had scolded her husband for showing his embarrassment. Going red and refusing to look at Harry was not going to help!

She finally brought up the topic. "This video," she said.

But Harry said "Which video?"

"The porno one of course."

"Oh yes," said Harry, casually. "I feel bad about that - I reckon they should pay me royalties since it seems to be so popular!"

Ron stared at him, and laughed, as did Hermione. Harry had come to some acceptance of his disgrace in the wizarding world. The night that he'd become so thoroughly drunk seemed to have done him good. It's not that it didn't hurt, just that it was no longer quite so horridly hurtful.

"You're looking awful," said Hermione. "Is there something else bothering you?"

Harry shrugged - why not? These were his best friends after all, and Hermione might be able to help. He started to explain, "There's a bit of music, fairly common music…" He reddened and changed his mind, saying no no, forget about it.

Hermione prompted him, saying in a persuasive voice, "Tell me."

Harry was looking down now, feeling desperately ashamed. "It makes me feel so sick whenever I hear it," and he added in an ironic tone, "Music to torture by." And he rather reluctantly continued, "I suspect that it's known in certain circles. All they have to do is play it, and I'm likely to disgrace myself again by being sick on the floor! I've listened to it repeatedly. I thought that I could get used to it but it's just not working!"

Hermione listened, a frown on her face. Ron was not helpful. He wouldn't look at Harry, and Harry felt more ashamed than ever.

"Is this why you're so tired," asked Hermione.

Harry shrugged and said, "Probably." He was wishing he'd spoken to Hermione alone. Ron was staring away from him, his ears pink. Harry didn't know that it was more anger than embarrassment. Ron would have liked to kill Harry's kidnappers again and again, for so hurting his friend. And obviously there were accomplices still around, or those videos would not have been so widely distributed.

"You've played it repeatedly?" said Hermione, and Harry nodded.

"Well, I think you should just give up now, give yourself a rest, do what you enjoy. It's obviously doing you no good."

Harry guessed she was right - maybe he had just been a bit too stubborn! They parted then, and Ron received an even more thorough tongue lashing from Hermione, for making Harry more uncomfortable than he was already.

Harry called Hermione the day after, and asked how many bookings she had for the following Wednesday. She had none, so he asked her not to take any for a couple of weeks. He was going away. He didn't tell her where, mostly because he had not yet decided. He didn't tell the Ministry, either, although Hermione notified them that an Observer would not be needed for a couple of weeks.

_**xx**_

Harry found a sunny beach in California. He had booked in to a hotel in the morning, walked a few miles along the beach, and was looking at the tempting water. He was wearing brief swimmers, and a towel was draped over his shoulder, both casually conjured that morning. There were definite advantages in being a wizard. He was looking strong and fit. He was no longer any thinner than he had been before the kidnap ordeal, although it had taken him some months to make up for the three weeks' starvation. There were surreptitious glances from many of the women around - and a few of the men. He was already tanned. It was not long since the summer holidays.

Over the years, Harry had become quite a strong swimmer. He entered the water, swimming for a long time, noticing that there was a current, and relishing the effort involved in overcoming it. Finally, he came to the shore, and sat on the sand.

Harry was watching the waves, thinking. There had been so many losses in recent years. Ginny, of course, and their unborn child. Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Hedwig, Sheba, his reputation and his job. He firmly told himself, however, that he had _not_ lost his self-respect. What was done to the body did not need to affect the spirit. It was separate, and irrelevant. And he was still healthy, and the sun felt good. This is what he told himself, and yet he felt sore. There had just been too much in the last few years.

He still sat, but a frown appeared on his face. He couldn't see well without his glasses, but certainly that swimmer was a very long way out. He stood, the better to see, and he was sure now, that swimmer was in trouble. There was that undertow...

Other sunbathers were calling now, but Harry acted. Taking to the water again, his strong, sure stroke took him closer to the woman, who was being dragged by the current, further and further out to sea.

It took a long time, but he came to the side of the exhausted woman, and supported her in the water. He knew he could not directly fight the undertow to take her back, and apparating with a passenger is best not done while swimming and nearing exhaustion himself.

So Harry swam crossways to the current, dragging the fainting woman, keeping her head above the water. She was a dead weight, and he was getting very tired. All he had to do was to swim to the side, and he would be out of the undertow, and could then return to shore.

It was taking such a long time, and surely she was getting heavier.

He was so tired by the time he noticed that there no longer seemed to be that current that had been taking them, and he turned again to shore, doggedly battling his fatigue.

The boat that was near him was seen through a red film of exhaustion. The lifesavers reached down and grabbed the unconscious woman.

He trod water, waiting, and looked at the beach. He was rather dizzy, and everything was blurry, but surely there were an awful lot of people there. And while he had never realised it before, he thought now that he hated crowds. It suddenly seemed to him that it was the other way he really wanted to go.

He turned from the boat, and started swimming, now strongly and smoothly again. He was going to find his Ginny.

They called to him, rowing hard to reach his side again.

He turned to them, looking up, "No, it's all right. I don't need help. Ginny's out there. I'm going to find Ginny," and he turned from them, swimming directly out to sea, strongly, determinedly. He was going to find his Ginny.

They tried to pull him out of the water by force, but he seemed to slip away from them, still swimming, yards to the side of where he had been a moment before. The rescued woman was in a bad way, and they were torn.

A helicopter hovered above them, filming, and again the boat pulled alongside the swimmer, again trying to pull him from the water, and again he slipped somehow to the side, apparating only a yard or two at a time, a bit further until he was out of reach. Another boat was nearing now, and the first boat, with the rescued woman, turned to shore.

The helicopter hovered low above the swimmer, marking him for the rescue boat.

Harry thought that the noise was in his head. He just kept swimming, strongly, smoothly, his mind made up, further and further out to sea.

And then there were hands reaching for him again. He thought he'd best be polite, so he turned in the water, and explained again. "Please, I don't need help, I'm going to find Ginny."

Why were they taking no notice? He was getting annoyed with them now, but he shouldn't show obvious magic to muggles, so again he just slipped to the side, a little at a time, until he was far enough away that he made a longer apparation, a couple of hundred yards, and another. They lost him, although the helicopter still searched, and so did the boat.

Harry had found some strength from somewhere, and he swam on and on. He was going to find Ginny.

And it seemed to him that he did find his Ginny, appearing in his uttermost exhaustion, and she told him not to be so bloody silly. He turned, looked at the far distant shore, and apparated to it, arriving untidily, half buried, and spitting out sand.

In the distance was a crowd. There seemed to be a lot of boats, rowing back and forth, a long way from shore. There was a helicopter, flying a search pattern low over the waves. Everything was blurry without his glasses. And he was very tired.

Harry Potter lay on the sand for an hour, like just another sunbather, before he finally realised that it was almost certainly himself that they were searching so hard for. He rose shakily to his feet. He still didn't want to face that crowd, and he finally asked a teenager close by, if there'd mind telling the searchers that the idiot who'd been swimming out to sea was now safely ashore.

The boy stared at him, and wanted to know his name, but Harry just shook his head, and picked up the stick that he'd inconspicuously conjured, and used it to keep his balance as he started walking wearily toward the road that ran alongside the beach. There were some bushes close, and as soon as he was out of sight, he apparated to where his kitbag still sat on the sand. His glasses were in the kitbag. He had abandoned his towel, which was somewhere too close to that daunting crowd. His kitbag was still waiting for him. It had a charm on it. It was never stolen, and seldom even noticed.

_**xx**_

It was still only morning, Harry rested a while, had a large lunch, but, still tired, returned to his room, falling deeply asleep for a few hours. He woke, confused, his memory for a moment, blurred. He had seen Ginny. He knew he had seen Ginny. And she'd told him not to be so bloody silly! He guessed he _was_ being silly. What was he doing fretting about a spot of buggery? It wasn't even a pain in the ass! They'd drugged him first.

He dressed himself and went out for dinner. It was time to start living again.

In the bar downstairs, a TV in the corner was showing the day's news, and the patrons, including two young Swedish backpackers, watched, fascinated, as a lonely swimmer avoided the rescue boat, and determinedly swam straight out to sea. It was reported that the swimmer, who had rescued a drowning woman, had stated that he was going to find Ginny. There was some speculation as to who Ginny was, and the excellent helicopter camera brought the swimmer's face into fairly close view. Not a great deal could be seen, only a slightly thin face and black hair. There did seem to be a thin white scar.

The girls were very interested. It was the beach outside, hardly any distance at all away. A teenage boy was interviewed. Yes, there was a man who had told him that he was ashore. Yes, he seemed very tired. No, he wouldn't give his name. An inadequate description was obtained from the boy. There was some grisly speculation that it hadn't been the swimmer at all, and maybe the body would be found in a few days, and there was an interview with a woman recovering in the hospital, who, after prompting, obligingly asked her rescuer to come forward so that he could be thanked.

She was unable to give a description. She'd been so tired when she had suddenly found help.

The pictures of the swimmer reappeared at the end of the news. It had been the main news item, and was a sufficiently good story that it would be shown again throughout the night, and stills obtained from the film so that newspapers had their pictures. It made a few of the international papers, too.

Harry came to the bar in his hotel after his meal, and sat at a table in the corner. He knew what he wanted, a woman sitting by herself, wanting what he wanted.

He didn't look at the beautiful young Swedes. There were two, and they were a lot younger than himself. But they looked at him, and they speculated. Could it be? He looked a bit thin in the face, and he had black hair, and yes, there was a scar on his left cheek. And when he went to the bar for a drink, he moved rather stiffly at first.

They were beautiful girls, and had the confidence that went with it. There was always a welcome for young girls like themselves. They made their decision, and Harry was suddenly joined by the girls, all of twenty-two, one on each side.

He made an instant decision. He'd had a lot to put up with lately, maybe he needed double the consolation. And he smiled at them both, putting in his eyes and his voice that almost unconscious appeal that was the element that had him so frequently in bed with one woman after another.

They didn't tell him what they suspected, but one, suddenly hungry, reached out and touched the scar that ran down his cheek. There were few preliminaries. He wanted them, urgently, overwhelmingly, and they wanted him. He had a comfortable room upstairs, with a double bed. They played into the night, finding his body utterly desirable, as he found their bodies utterly desirable. The three found their play altogether pleasurable, altogether satisfying.

He spent the next day with the pair, and the next and the next. They did have boyfriends, who were meeting them in a few days in a different city, but as they didn't worry about them, neither did Harry. As he had thought before, he needed some extra special consolation, but two of them were sometimes a bit distracting, and once or twice he forgot that special spell he was supposed to work in the instant following the climax of their pleasure, the spell that was supposed to ensure that no child would be born from the love-making.

Not that he was worried, they had told him the first night that they were safe from conception, and they were obviously not inexperienced virgins!

Two aurors, a man and a woman, booked into the hotel, in a room close to his. They thought that he didn't know them, but he remembered that they had followed him the night he had become very drunk. Except for quietly checking the names they had booked in under, which may or may not have been their real names, he ignored them. He rather liked having Kingsley think that he didn't know his aurors when he really did!

In three days, the girls were to meet their boyfriends, although they explained to Harry that they were only boyfriends of convenience - they had other girls, as the girls had other boys if they chose. But the second night, one asked if he was married, and he told them that he was widowed.

"What was her name?"

Harry answered, "Ginny." They knew now that Harry was definitely the swimmer, although he didn't know that they knew. He never bothered watching the muggle news these days, or looking at newspapers, so had no idea that a dozen reporters had been combing the beach suburbs for him.

The girls were not yet tired of him, and Harry was definitely not yet tired of the girls, and when they were ready to move onto their pre-booked hotel in the next city, Harry went with them, finding a large room at the same hotel. The aurors took note, but it was a different pair that watched him in the next city. Harry didn't spot them, but then, he wasn't looking very hard.

Back in London, Kingsley Shacklebolt shook his head in disbelief. First Harry was apparently bent on committing suicide - he had been tracked down because of the newspaper items - and the next thing anybody knew, he was apparently having a wonderful time with two gorgeous young backpackers!

And then the boyfriends rejoined the girls, and one took exception to his presence, and the aurors spotted Harry Potter that evening, eyes sparkling and teeth gleaming from a tanned face, as he circled and dodged the fists of the large blonde Swede that was the irritable boyfriend.

He didn't hit back much, or very hard - there was only one, not really much of a challenge. But he had fun, and he had decided that the chief purpose of life was to have fun!

But still, the boyfriends were back, and he left the girls. It was only at the point of departure that he discovered that the girls knew that he had swum out to sea that day, looking for Ginny. He left a card with each of the girls, carrying his name, and his muggle Post Office box address, as he always did when he and a girl parted. 'If ever you're in trouble,' he'd say, 'Give me a call.'

But none ever did, and he'd stopped expecting it. The cards were lost, and when Inge unexpectedly found she was pregnant, she assumed that it was the boyfriend.

_**xx**_

Harry had sent word to Hermione that she could book in patients again after a two week break, but there was no indication of where he could be contacted. Harry had disapparated from the hotel in America, but just in case he was being watched, and he was a bit suspicious of a certain couple, he left a few days before he was due back, losing any possible watchers. He saw no need for the Ministry to know that he could apparate perfectly easily from California to London.

The first that Hermione saw of Harry was when he strolled into her offices, ready to do his spell-breaking. Again there was a large line-up, nearly all from overseas, but he was quick, and there were none in the slightest bit difficult. He was beginning to think that he was getting better at it. Sometimes he was curing spells now, with just a casual wave of his wand, that he remembered having to work at, just a few years back.

Amelia Bones had her reports on Harry, and she thought it time to try and put her plans into operation. She conferred with the wizard who was the head of the Department for International Cooperation, who also made some plans. No foreign Ministries were contacted yet, but the new Ministry Healer was selected with some thought.

Hermione was very pleased with Harry. He was acting now as if he had not a care in the world. He was looking tanned and fit. She, too, thought it time to put certain plans into operation. At the conclusion of their session, she suggested that they both go and see Ron at his office. Ron was to organise an afternoon tea, as Hermione knew that sometimes the spell-breaking sessions left Harry looking for something to eat.

Their talk was casual. Harry asked about Ben, who had been Sorted into Gryffindor, and was having a great time at Hogwarts, and Harry told them a little of his holiday. Lovely long beach, warm sand, great swimming. A nice hotel right on the beach.

"Girls?" asked Ron.

Harry grinned, but gave a half glance at Hermione and said nothing. Hermione was looking disapproving. A constant stream of girlfriends was not the way to live, she felt.

Hermione put the first part of her plan into action. "Come and have dinner with us Saturday night, we're having a small party, just six or eight people, and you'll know most of them."

Harry immediately agreed. Somewhere during his holiday, he had decided he was not going to hide from people, whatever embarrassing revelations came out.

So Hermione assembled a variety of friends - Neville Longbottom and his wife Bess, who were late because they forgot which day it was, a colleague of Hermione's, June Hopkirk, who was around 40, and an employee of Ron's, called Jason Davenport, a little younger. There was also Luna Lovegood, who had been a friend of Ginny's, but whom Harry had rarely seen since school.

June and Jason were both single, and seemed to take to each other at once. Luna had always seemed a bit strange at school, but she'd apparently learned to pretend that she was nearly normal now. She was tidy, blonde and nicely rounded. She wore glasses now, and had been married and fairly quickly divorced three times. She had no children.

The conversation was lively and general over dinner, and only Jason looked at Harry Potter with obvious curiosity.

Harry knew everyone to some extent. He'd worked with June, and nearly all the younger wizards and witches of the last 20 years knew him as Professor Potter at Hogwarts. Most of them, of course, he only knew slightly. His work was mostly with senior students, and often special remedial classes at that.

The conversation strayed to some fairly esoteric branches of magic once dinner was finished, and when Hermione rose from the table and was followed to the loungeroom, Luna and Harry stayed, conjuring pens and paper out of the air, and drawing diagrams and arguing theories, entirely forgetful that there was anyone else in the house, even when Hermione quickly tidied around them.

Hermione was watching Harry with satisfaction, and also some surprise. She had been the brainy one at school, but now Harry was showing that he had accumulated a vast store of knowledge, but matched at every point by Luna.

There was finally some sort of conclusion to the discussion still going on at the dining room table, as suddenly there was a roar of laughter, and Hermione took the opportunity to remind them that there were other people at the party. Harry and Luna joined the others in the loungeroom, and listened as Neville and Bess boasted of the achievements of their numerous children.

But when the rest of the party left, Harry and Luna stayed, in deep conversation about a strange phenomenon that had recently occurred in Haiti.

Hermione thought that her plan to have Harry happily re-married was going well, but she wished they'd go now - she wanted to go to bed. And why on earth didn't Harry make a date with Luna? From what Ron said, he'd taken rather less than five minutes to have his nurse at the muggle hospital ready to jump into bed with him! She finally asked Harry if he'd like to stay the night, which gave both of them the strong hint that it was time to leave, which, thankfully, they did. But not together.

Harry was to meet Luna several times in the next months, in the company of Hermione and Ron. They always got on like a house on fire, but the pair never organised any dates independent of Hermione, except that they met at a conference on Magical Bilibustion once.

***chapter end***


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted, belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 13:_

Early in October, Amelia Bones called Harry into her office. She politely greeted him, then led him to a conference room, where a particularly tempting afternoon tea was laid out. Harry took one glance, and asked, "What do you want, Amelia?"

Madam Bones was a bit taken aback at this instant perception, but two more people entered at that moment, saving her from having to answer. One was Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Amelia introduced the second as Stan McMillan. Stan greeted Harry as Professor Potter, but Harry shook his head, "Not a professor any more, Stan."

Amelia started to pour him coffee. She had long since taken note of how he took his coffee, and Harry found himself seated at the table, coffee in hand, exactly as he liked it, and a tempting roll in front of him.

He was feeling distinctly amused now - what did she want of him? But as soon as Amelia added the information that Stan headed the Department of International Cooperation, he thought he knew the answer. It was a few years ago now, that Amelia had raised the subject of doing a week at a time in a foreign countries, doing his spell-breaking work there. And even before she raised the subject he had decided to agree. His youngest child, James, was now at Hogwarts, and apparently not talking to him in any case, and he had nothing better to do.

After Amelia decided he was sufficiently mellowed with food and coffee, Stan McMillan put forward the basic idea. He had made initial approaches to several European countries, and they had been eager. He didn't mention how well they were prepared to pay, or that his work would bring prestige to the British Ministry and possible concessions when there were disputes or deals to be made. Rather, after a hint from Amelia, he spoke of unfortunate witches and wizards, lives blighted by spells, often for years, whom Harry could help. Many of them could not afford to come to Hermione's sessions. For Harry to go there was a public service.

Harry said casually, "Sounds all right."

McMillan went on to a few details. The Ministry would do all the organising, and a deputation would be sent. There would be a translator, and there would be a bodyguard. And he added, "The aurors are for your protection, and you must, of course, do exactly what they say."

Harry's brow immediately creased, and Kingsley acted quickly, saying smoothly, "Mr. Potter has never done what his bodyguards tell him in England - I don't think we can expect any better obedience from him overseas!"

Harry said, "I don't accept the need for bodyguards, and I don't like being followed. I think what I should do is just drop in to the various Ministries next time I'm there, and offer my services."

This was not at all what Madam Bones wanted, and, able politician that she was, she had a hard time explaining to Harry just why that was impossible. But she reminded him of language difficulties, and spoke about organisational difficulties, concluding, "It will be much more convenient for you, Harry, if we do all the organising."

Harry finally shrugged, and agreed. He was no organiser. The Ministry could look after him if that's what they wanted, although, of course, no auror was going to tell him what to do! He did specify one thing, that it should be pointed out that he sometimes failed. He didn't want anyone thinking that he was infallible.

"That's not very often, though, is it, Harry?" said Kingsley, who invariably checked the reports of the 'Observers.'

"Now and then. I've got a list. One day I might work out how to do the ones I fail."

"Now it's decided, there's one other person I want you to meet," said Amelia, and she asked McMillan to fetch Chris.

A few minutes later, a young man with an anxiously furrowed forehead and glasses was introduced. Harry knew Christopher Abbot, too. He had been in Hufflepuff, and had needed a lot of help in his senior years to get the marks needed to join the Ministry. Abbot was to be his liaison officer, and if he had any special requirements, it was Abbot he should go to.

"Do you have any special requirements, Professor?" asked Abbot.

"Call me Harry," said Harry, casually and automatically. "No special requirements."

He put a couple of questions of his own. "How are we travelling? Apparating?"

"No, we'll mostly go by aeroplane, as we'll often be travelling too far to apparate."

"And accommodation?"

"Accommodation will be arranged by the host country." He continued, "It might take a week to set up the first time, but if things go well, we'll do a session every second week for a time, see how it goes. The work with Healer Granger can be done every alternate week."

They showed him where Chris Abbot's office was, and told him if anything came up, he was to go to him, no appointment needed. Harry was agreeable. It sounded quite interesting.

Monday, two weeks later, Harry Potter presented himself at the Ministry of Magic, and he was whisked smoothly to an aeroplane, accompanied by three aurors, plus Stan McMillan, who had decided to go along himself the first time, and to his surprise, the new Ministry Healer, an attractive young woman called Jodie Bagshott. It was explained to him that she was there as part of the team - so that no foreign government should be able to complain if a cure went wrong.

No-one told him that Healer Bagshott had been instructed that part of her duties was to keep a close eye on Harry Potter, and try to ensure his continued health. He was known to indulge in dangerous behaviour, and occasionally to exhaust himself doing his cures. Hopefully, she was to prevent this, although how she was supposed to stop Harry Potter doing exactly as he wished, was not explained.

The five wizards and one witch, in muggle clothing, of course, were VIPs. The airport staff treated them with utmost courtesy, they were given a special private lounge, and their luggage not searched. They were treated as if they had diplomatic immunity, in fact. This was an aspect of wizard/muggle relations at the top, that was new to Harry. When he had travelled by muggle transport, he had put charms on his luggage, with the result that it was never searched, and on his passport, which was always held to be in order. There was no need for that this time, and he enjoyed the novelty of this special treatment.

Healer Hermione Granger had been consulted as to the numbers of patients that were to be booked in each day. An interim figure of sixty for each full day, divided into four segments was finally settled on. Although Harry was known to be very quick, it was also known that occasionally difficult patients would occur, and that he was not always prudent when it came to judging his own capabilities. Harry Potter was the only wizard in the world who could cure these people, and a lifetime's accumulation was to be treated in this week's effort.

The French were effusive in their welcome, but irritated him by treating him like some rare specimen. And he was sure that some of them were looking at him with speculation in their eyes - surely that damned video hadn't made it this far. He reacted by becoming cool and emotionless, freezing off some undesired overtures before they started.

After a meal, the party was shown into the room where Harry was to work his magic. Mark, who was now a senior auror, also took his place within the room, Bedwin was to guard outside the door. Jebedee was off duty. He was to do the evening and night shift. Kingsley expected that the evening hours would be the most arduous shift, and Jebedee was young, large and fit.

But Harry looked around. There seemed to be a ridiculously large number of people in the room, and he spoke to Stan, suggesting that most of them leave. There seemed to be at least a dozen French observers, but the French Coordinator gesticulated volubly, protesting, and Harry eventually intervened, he wanted to get on with it. Maybe they'd soon get bored

After that, it was just a repetition of his normal work, waving his wand over the wizards and witches as they were led in, and then steered out again, the spells broken. The thank yous in French rather than in English, aside from that, no change.

The week proceeded smoothly, although the aurors protested when Harry went out every evening, they didn't know where. 'How can we protect you if we don't know where you are?' they'd protest. Harry would shrug. He wasn't going to do without sex for a whole week, although he was surprised to see that the others seemed to be accepting that terrible deprivation without any concern.

After the first two days, the numbers of spectators diminished as they became bored, but on the third day, Harry had to put some effort into breaking a spell, and the observers felt the tingling in the air that only Mark had felt before. There were excited murmurings and comments, and three of the French suddenly bolted, until Harry ceased his magic, turned on the observers, and in reasonable, if not fluent, French, asked them to please leave the room, or for goodness sake be quiet, he needed to concentrate!

And he glared at them as some decided to leave, and some shuffled their feet, looked ashamed, and stayed. There were two more that day the same. The feel of strong magic in the air could be daunting to some, but it only took a few minutes longer than usual, and only the mediwizard noticed that Harry tended to eat more after such a patient.

To Jebedee's relief, it appeared that Harry wasn't planning on going out that evening, saying he was a little tired, making Jodie look up. Should she say anything, maybe suggest he have a checkup? Her Nisco Monitor gave a very good indication of energy reserves. And breaking 'unbreakable' spells in these numbers was unprecedented. Luckily, she decided not to say anything. While Harry was customarily polite and friendly, suggestions of unwanted medical examinations, especially by Ministry Healers, was likely to try his patience.

Harry went early to bed that night, and Jebedee, relieved that he would not have to report to Kingsley that he'd slipped the leash for the third night running, took station outside his door.

Harry fell into a deep sleep. On occasion, his spell-breaking did indeed take some energy.

It wasn't even midnight, and Harry was tossing and moaning in his sleep. He fidgeted, throwing aside his blankets, but it was only when the sound of a gentle and tender voice entered his mind, _Tears, Harry?_ that he jerked fully awake, sitting white-faced and trembling on the side of his bed.

Harry Potter had had nightmares like this for many years, since efforts were made when he was still in his teens, to make him a prisoner, drugged and helpless. It was really only the appearance of Smith-Burton's voice that had changed since the kidnapping, the feeling of helplessness and the terror of confinement were the same. He rose from his bed, had a shower to banish the sweat of his nightmare, dressed, and let himself out of his room, surprising Jebedee half asleep in a chair outside his room. It surprised Harry, too. "Do you do this every night?" he asked.

"Every night you're in," said Jebedee. "There hasn't been much point so far." Harry had spent the previous two nights with a young woman he had met on the beach Monday evening.

Harry regarded him, "Well, I'm sorry, but I'm going out again."

"Harry!" protested Jebedee. And then suggested, "The bar's still open downstairs, How about we go there?"

Harry actually quite liked Jebedee, and he had nothing else in mind, so he agreed.

It was very late, few people were about, and conversation flowed. Harry admitted at one point that he sometimes didn't sleep well, and Jebedee, expecting this duty every fortnight, groaned to himself. His father had warned him that the evening shift with Harry could be lively, but so far it had been very boring indeed, as Harry had just vanished.

Harry generally tended to ignore the aurors who were assigned to look after him, always regarding it as an imposition, but this evening, he was being quietly companionable, and Jebedee asked him something. "Zack told us a few weeks ago that you said you've never trusted aurors, or the Ministry. - Why not?"

Harry looked into the distance, and said, "I suppose it's a long time ago now, and Amelia's all right."

He looked curiously at Jebedee, "Don't you know? Has your father never told you?"

"No, but I think I heard something once - something to do with Voldemort?"

"There was that, and then they tried to put me away again a few years later, for no reason at all, really. That was Cornelius Fudge Amelia is all right, but she won't be there forever and aurors tend to obey orders, right or wrong." Harry grinned. "I'm outliving a lot of my enemies - who would have thought it? Voldemort's contemporaries are old men or dead, although I suppose there must be some younger wizards who followed him, too. And those aurors who went against me - John Dawlish is dead, and probably more are retired. Do you know Bruce O'Brien?"

"Retired."

"Charles Mason?"

"He's still around, he's a great chap, very helpful, sometimes."

Harry asked, "Richard Tomlinson?"

"Never heard of him."

"Sean Pickering?"

"Dead last year in a fight against a pair of murderers, him and Ian McFarlane."

"What about Ian Jackson?"

"He's still around," answered Jebedee. "Why do you ask about them?"

"They obeyed orders, they tried to take me - and would have too, if it wasn't for Dumbledore."

"You still have enemies. How about the ones who took you a few months ago?"

"Well, they achieved their aim, didn't they? My reputation and influence are destroyed, and there's no need for any further action against me. I'm probably safer now than I ever have been."

Jebedee was silent. Harry was right. His reputation was indeed destroyed. There were rumours that he was to be sacked from the Wizemgamot, and he was no longer asked to preside at Hearings or take part on Ministerial Committees. It was hard for anyone who had seen that video to be with him without it colouring their thoughts, and Jebedee looked down, suddenly uncomfortable. He had seen it, almost everyone in the wizarding world had seen it. People were too curious not to watch when it was so easily available.

Harry instantly and correctly interpreted the change in body language of his companion, and rose to his feet, "I'm just going out for a bit, I'll be back in an hour or so."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me where you're going."

"Nowhere dangerous tonight. I'll even give you a call when I come back, if you want."

Jebedee smiled wryly. This was a concession, and he agreed that he would like to be informed. So Harry went to a Paris brothel for an hour, and when he returned, he knocked at Jebedee's door as he had promised, and slept peacefully until morning.

Thursday was the last day of spell-breaking, the constant stream of appointments coming to an end, with just a few extra loaded onto Thursday afternoon, rather than having the work continue Friday.

Stan McMillan, the head of the Department for International Cooperation was very happy indeed at the way things had gone. The French and the English Ministries together, had arranged a large dinner function for that night, and he told Harry that he was expected to be there. Minister Bones was tickled pink. She would be attending the dinner, as well as other Ministry officials, including Kingsley Shacklebolt. Representatives of those whom he had healed were to be there - there was a Beauxbatons professor, for instance, who had been wearing antlers for the last thirty years!

Harry was seated between Amelia Bones and the French Minister for the meal, like a prize exhibit, Harry felt, and he became more and more annoyed and impatient.

The dinner finally ended, to his relief, and he was trying to think of an excuse to vanish, but as soon as Amelia Bones let go his arm, Stan McMillan led him over to someone else to introduce him. Harry tried hard to be polite, but became more and more edgy as people fawned over him, a couple of young witches made it obvious that they were available to him, and a few wizards tried to joke with him about his sexual preferences.

Kingsley was beginning to be worried, and the two aurors who were assigned to stay close at all times were waiting for an explosion.

Harry was trying to make his way to the exit, although it seemed that no-one else was ready to leave. He finally made a light explode at the other side of the room, drawing everyone's attention, allowing him to slip out the door.

"That was awful. I'm damned if I'm doing that again," he said to Mark, who was waiting outside. Jebedee, who had kept close, followed him out, although Bedwin had been a bit slow, and was still inside.

Harry was in deep green dress robes, unsuitable for muggle society, and after being what he thought was well behaved all evening, he was going out for a bit of fun! In his room, he swiftly changed, wearing now a casual shirt, and a rather disreputable pair of jeans. Jebedee groaned aloud as he made his appearance again outside his door.

Harry just gave him a mischievous grin. "Don't follow me," he said. "I don't want company tonight."

Kingsley suddenly apparated close by, and he, too, groaned, as he took in Harry's appearance. Kingsley tried, "We won't interfere," he said in his deepest, most persuasive voice, "But you know you get yourself into trouble sometimes. Just let Jebedee go with you, or maybe just keep a watch from a distance."

Harry shook his head, "I've had a lot to put up with this evening, and now I'm out for a bit of fun!" His eyes were sparkling with merriment and anticipation. Before there was time for any more objections, he vanished in front of their eyes, just before Mark and Bedwin appeared, looking for their charge.

"See, Father, I really can't help it," said Jebedee, but Kingsley said, "I've never been able to exercise the slightest control over him myself."

The English Ministry was unwilling to admit how little control they had over their pet wizard, so there was no liaison with the French Ministry or the muggle police, and Kingsley only sent out the three aurors at his disposal to three areas of the city that he felt were the most likely possible destinations for a mad young wizard out for trouble.

They didn't find him, not until he limped in to the hotel a few hours later, happy as a lark and covered in bruises. Jodie had the first job she'd had all week when Kingsley roused her to treat Harry's bruises.

Harry hadn't wanted Kingsley to wake Jodie, but since she was awake, he obediently sat on his bed, wearing only underpants, as Jodie smeared a pink lotion over his numerous bruises. Kingsley was sitting on a chair in the corner.

Harry was still happy and relaxed, as Jodie started giving him a lecture on fighting, just as Hermione and Poppy were apt to do. But Harry defended himself. "All week, I've been healing the results of what is mostly wizard duelling. Nasty skin conditions, antlers, horns, horrible deformities. Wizards sneer at muggle duelling, but all I have and all I've given are a few bruises! So who's civilised?"

This was the first chance that Jodie had had to have a sight of Harry without his clothes, and she immediately suspected that he was going to be one of those rare wizards and witches, maybe one or two in a generation, who have a very long life span.

Kingsley, too, was frowning at Harry, trying to remember just how old he was now. Harry stood when Jodie had finished smearing on the lotion, and his body looked lithe, vigorous, and most of all, young.

Jodie was seizing her opportunity, and pulled out a monitor. But Harry refused, stating firmly that he was not going to be further examined, and just for good measure, his eyes narrowed for a moment on the monitor, which would now show an LV of 105 as a top reading. He didn't like appearing abnormal, although he was still oblivious to the fact that his very body was beginning to proclaim that fact, at least to anyone who knew that he was no longer a young man.

He was beginning to feel sleepy, and he yawned and stretched, muscles suddenly moving temptingly on that delicious body. Jodie couldn't help herself. She stretched out a hand and touched his shoulder.

Kingsley got up, saying that Jebedee would take up station outside the door, as soon as he got in, and he left the pair. It seemed to him that if Harry found what he wanted within their own ranks, he was less likely to indulge in risky behaviour.

But Harry was looking at her, his eyes shadowed. He never went with witches, it would make for complications, and Jodie was disappointed as he made no response to her quite obvious invitation. She might have been happier if she'd seen him after she left. He was always quickly aroused, and paced the floor for a while. He might even have resorted to another trip to the brothel if he hadn't been so tired.

The following morning, a small bus conveyed the enlarged party to the airport, and this time Harry discovered that a small private aeroplane had been organised, taking them swiftly back to England. He still thought that it had been only a small way, and that any competent wizard should be able to apparate that far, but of course, some of his companions were a bit old, especially Amelia Bones, and then there was luggage to worry about as well.

Stan told him to expect Munich, Germany, the week after next, and Harry took the opportunity to say that he would not be attending any more functions like that of the previous night. The others could do what they chose, but if they organised anything else like that, he would go and get fish and chips for himself!

Stan spluttered about his obligations to international relations, but Harry asked how it would be for international relations if he'd blasted the hand of the personal assistant to the French Minister, who had apparently thought it OK to have a grope! He had become convinced the previous evening that the pornographic video had done the rounds, and thought he was to be commended for his extraordinary self-control. Some of his companions, knowing of his recent troubles, agreed.

For a time, then, Harry would be found at a different country every second week, garnering prestige for the Ministry, but not actually making much money himself. Three aurors, a mediwizard, and sometimes Christopher Abbot, the Trip Coordinator, all reduced the profits of the expeditions, and the Ministry took its cut first, before Harry. Harry was left with the small amount that was left.

He never actually noticed, although his secretary was intending to bring it up with him - she thought he was being taken advantage of.

***chapter end***


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. _.

_Chapter14:_

The population of wizards in Britain was not large, and its few homosexuals tended to have much closer ties with muggles than is usual among wizards. They found themselves at home among the muggle gay community, where Harry Potter was becoming a bit of a cult. He was refusing to hide himself away, but his tactic of burning any exploring hand had quickly become known, and he mostly only had to put up with curious and lustful looks, or sniggering jeers from his enemies.

In late November, he was walking down Diagon Alley, heading toward Fred and George's Joke Shop. Fred and George still treated him with entire naturalness, which he appreciated. They were still hilarious company, no more sedate than they'd been as teenagers, though they were over fifty now.

From a lifetime's habit, Harry was aware of his surroundings and the people around him, and nodded casually at young James Pertwee, whom he had known slightly from the time when Pertwee had been at Hogwarts. But he wheeled on him in explosive temper, when he found an exploring hand groping a very private area, and Pertwee stepped back, cradling his burnt hand. But though his eyes teared with pain, Pertwee was smiling. "I knew you'd do that, I decided I wanted to do it anyway!"

Harry stared at him in bemusement. "What? You think a grope was worth a burnt hand!"

Pertwee nodded, looking totally unabashed, though his hand was still blistering.

Harry broke into laughter, holding onto the wall, but looked back at Pertwee, saying, "Well, don't do it again - I've been known to take off fingers!"

Pertwee tried to get himself fixed by a mediwizard, but Harry's spells were not easily broken, and no help was found. He consoled himself by watching his favourite video again

The next day was a Wednesday, and Harry turned up as usual at Hermione's office to do his work. The last patient of the day was a brazen and unashamed James Pertwee. Harry stared at him in amazement. "You want me to _cure_ you? I _burnt_ you!"

"The mediwizard couldn't cure it, and it hurts!"

"Good!" said Harry.

Both Zack and Hermione were looking at him in confusion.

Pertwee protested, "But I can't go around like this for the rest of my life!"

Harry was indifferent. "It'll heal in the same time it takes a normal muggle burn to heal. Go away!"

Pertwee, however, lingered, and Zack hesitated, unsure if he should remove the man or not.

"Cure it, and I'll tell you something you should know!"

Harry was looking at him with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"I'll show you this evening, if you want."

But Harry pressed, "What is it?"

"Something you should know!" said Pertwee, "Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron 9.00pm tonight, and I'll show you. Wear wizard's gear - it's entirely appropriate for where we're going."

Harry gazed after him, saying nothing, but Pertwee found his hand mended, and fully expected Harry to be at the Leaky Cauldron at the time stated.

At the Leaky Cauldron, Pertwee sat at a table, waiting for Harry, who arrived not long after.

Three aurors were there, watching him. But as Kingsley knew certain things that Harry didn't, there were two more aurors waiting at a certain bar. Kingsley had been keeping this pair in reserve, they were from America, and hadn't been to Hogwarts. Harry wouldn't know them. But they had instructions - unless Harry started a wholesale massacre, he was not to be directly interfered with. Harry Potter was extremely valuable and besides, Kingsley was fond of him, and sincerely wanted to protect him. After the episode at the beach, he also knew that Harry might not be altogether stable right now.

Pertwee greeted Harry, who asked him again where they were going. But Pertwee just shook his head.

Harry was looking at him, "Are you leading me into a trap?"

Pertwee shook his head, "No, nothing like that," and Harry suddenly thought that if it was a trap, he'd have the chance to hit someone. These days, he often felt like hitting someone. He looked at the people surrounding him, and wondered why Kingsley hadn't tried to conceal the presence of the aurors. He knew Mark and Trevor well, and he'd seen the woman, too, although maybe Kingsley didn't know that.

He decided he'd lose the aurors, and he arranged with Pertwee, voices lowered, to apparate to a certain spot.

Pertwee led him into a rather garish hotel, found a table, and went to the bar to get them some drinks. Harry looked around, studying his surroundings. It was just a bar, and there were even a few couples, although it didn't take him long to notice that this was a bar mostly patronised by homosexual men - a Gay Bar, in fact.

They sat, drinking, although Harry decided to be prudent, and quietly, bit by bit, vanished his own drink instead of drinking it - just in case.

Pertwee said that they just had to wait, and refused to tell him more. They were the only men there wearing capes, and this was another odd thing - why had Pertwee said that wizards' gear was appropriate when this was a muggle area? Quite a few of those present seemed to be studying him, although none approached. After all, he already had a partner. More drinks were apparently consumed, but Harry only appeared to be drinking. He didn't want to be drugged or drunk in this place.

After an hour, a young man came in wearing a cape, although it didn't look quite like the tailoring of a standard wizards' cape. And then there was another, and Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. The man had black hair, although it looked like a wig, and a line was traced down his cheek, and another on his forehead, in imitation of his own scars.

He stayed, quietly watching, as Pertwee watched Harry. More Harry Potter lookalikes came in, some only going to the trouble of wearing a cape, some wearing black wigs, and more had drawn scars on their faces. But it was when a pair of men came in wearing masks, like those that Harry's kidnappers had worn, that Pertwee saw a shudder go through Harry's frame, and when Harry raised his glass, his hand was shaking.

More masked and caped men entered the room. Harry watched. There was something else going on that he hadn't quite worked out.

The tempo was picking up in the bar. There was laughing and joking, the few couples had long since gone, and there was beginning to be far more blatantly homosexual behaviour. Two Harry Potter lookalikes came across to their table. "Hello James," said one. "Who's your friend?"

Harry regarded them coolly. "My name's Harry Potter," he said.

There was laughter, and one said, "Well, you've done pretty well, shame about the glasses, but I suppose you can't help that - but you really should dye the white in your hair, it should be plain black."

The man they were addressing didn't seem to be very responsive, so they wandered away. Harry rose from the table. Pertwee, watching in some alarm, followed him. Harry went out through a door into a hall. There was a doorway leading off, where pairs of men had seemed to be going, often a 'Harry Potter' with a masked man.

And Harry trembled with overwhelming rage as he entered the 'Harry Potter' room, where an enormous screen showed a scene from that ghastly video, and a man bent across a bed and held pieces of rope, while a masked man sodomised him. His actions were still controlled, "I've come to warn you, there's a bomb. Everyone is to get out."

The pair broke apart, his words were ludicrous, but his voice and expression were deadly. They readjusted their clothing, and hurried out of the room.

Harry turned and went to the barman, and told him to clear the place, there was a bomb and it was due to explode. When the man didn't act quickly enough, he planted an order in the head of one of the masked men - he held a special hatred for masked men - "There's a bomb!" the man yelled loudly. "Quick, everybody out!"

Harry glanced at the door, and now it was sealed against entry, but would still allow men to leave, and he filled the air with panic, so that men fled.

Two men were on their feet, but resisting the panic, watching him. Pertwee was still there, too. Harry was shaking in rage, he was going to destroy this place. He went methodically from room to room, checking for remaining men, and sealing a back door.

Pertwee still stood close to the door, the two aurors were at their table, but standing. Harry looked coldly at them, "Out!"

One of the aurors tried to stop him, "Harry," he said, "You'll be in trouble."

Harry was white, his face a grim mask, but he took in the fact, these were aurors. Harry took out his wand, looked directly at the men, and his voice was a whip, "Get out of here," and when they still hesitated, barked: _"Now!"_

The men saw his face, saw how he trembled, and guessed how close he was to losing control utterly. They left, Pertwee hurriedly following.

Outside there were now crowds of people, including muggle policemen. Harry started at the lowermost level of the building, checking again for any remaining men, but there was not even a cat. And then he started using his wand to light fires, but when he came to that 'Harry Potter' room, with its bed and its ropes, his trembling redoubled, and that room was exploded, so hard that he had to step back swiftly himself so as not be hurt.

Fires were now roaring all around, and he retreated to an upper window. He put away his wand, transformed himself to a hawk, and watched from a nearby rooftop, as the hotel building burnt to the ground.

Still in his hawk form, he went to Sirius Black's place.

For the next three days Harry stayed in the house he'd never liked. He felt sick, and didn't want to see anyone. Numbly he thought he was probably in big trouble. Maybe he'd have to leave the country. James still didn't want him, he'd recently had a letter from him asking if he could stay with his cousin Ben at Uncle Ron's place for Christmas.

Kingsley Shacklebolt wanted to find Harry, and he went to Harry's family and friends. They were not worried - Harry disappeared sometimes, but always resurfaced, and he'd been in good spirits the last time he had been seen. He was tough, they knew, and even in these difficult days, faced the world with courage.

They were not told what Harry had done, although rumours were spreading. James Pertwee thought it was funny!

Harry was supposed to be leaving for Sweden on Monday, but Kingsley thought that Harry was very likely expecting to be arrested. That is if he was thinking clearly enough for that. From what the aurors had said about his state of mind, maybe the man had broken down completely, or had allowed himself to be killed in the fire.

It was not until Saturday that Kingsley remembered the hidden place that had once been the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Surely it had been left to Harry. Kingsley was one of the very few remaining people alive who knew about that place, and he suddenly became convinced that it might be where he would find him.

Mid-morning, Harry heard his doorbell ring. He had been sitting in an armchair staring at a boarded up fireplace, numb. Automatically, he rose, and wearily went to the door, opening it for Kingsley, the friend whom he often played as an opponent. And then he retreated back into the room where he had been sitting, slumping back in his chair. Kingsley sat too, studying Harry. Harry had dropped any facade, and now only looked deathly tired.

"There are to be no charges laid, as long as you pay compensation," said Kingsley.

Harry nodded. His being was filled with soreness.

"Will you be there Monday for Sweden?" and Harry nodded.

Kingsley looked around the room. It was still bare and stark. Except for a few months when Harry and Ginny were first married, twenty years before, it had not been lived in for a very long time. Incongruous on a coffee table was a CD player, with a CD packet carelessly left beside it. Underneath, lying on its side, was an empty bucket.

"What's that for?" asked Kingsley.

It was a direct question, and Harry answered, no longer caring. He had been stripped more than naked in front of the world, what did it matter if Kingsley knew?

"I was trying to throw off a bit of conditioning, but I couldn't do it."

Kingsley picked up the CD pack, "The 1812 Overture, is that it?"

Harry nodded, and Kingsley looked at the evidence of the bucket. "It still makes you sick?"

Harry merely nodded again.

Kingsley probed a little, "They think it's just fun and games." Harry made no answer.

"In California, you swam out to sea. You said that you were going to find Ginny."

At her name, Harry's eyes glistened with tears.

"Are you still likely to do something like that?" asked Kingsley softly.

Harry shook his head, and gave a mirthless grin. "I found her, but she told me not to be so bloody stupid! - so I apparated back to shore."

"And the next thing we knew, you had two beautiful girls to play with! You don't do too badly, do you?"

Harry finally looked up. "No, I don't do too badly. And there's an awful lot of women in the world!" He added, "I'm sorry, I have nothing in the house to offer you."

Kingsley said, "I would have thought that you, of all people, could conjure food!"

"No, I can just conjure something that looks like food and tastes like sawdust."

He showed then that he had been listening after all. "Thanks for organising the hotel owner. I'll pay the compensation. I didn't really want to be arrested."

Kingsley asked curiously, "Would you have allowed anyone to arrest you?"

Harry shook his head. "There's no way I could tolerate being locked up. They'd have to kill me." And then Harry, in spite of everything, showed Kingsley a glint of humour. "One of the men there said my Harry Potter disguise wasn't good enough - I had to dye the white in my hair as Harry Potter's hair's plain black!"

Kingsley laughed. This was a tough man.

After Kingsley left, Harry decided that he very much needed some extra special compensation again, and took himself to the French brothel, arranging for two women together, and Odette said that if he wanted he could stay the night with her, too. Harry wanted a female body to cuddle through the night, and he liked Odette.

Odette liked him too, he was by far her favourite customer. And when he started fidgeting and moaning in his sleep, she was able to talk softly to him, stroking his forehead, so that the nightmare was cut short and he went back to sleep.

_**xx**_

Monday, he reported to the Ministry office, and was smoothly whisked off to Sweden, where he did his work, although coming across one patient whom he could not help. He was prudent. When his first attempts failed, he asked that the patient return as the last one of the day. And when the patient returned at the end of the day's list, he terrified some Swedish observers, and daunted and impressed Jodie and Mark by filling the room with a humming of strong magic that seemed to clutch at their heartstrings.

He was careful, and stopped short of exhaustion. But he did take note of the condition, and the name of the patient. He always hoped to find a way. But that evening, he had a large meal, and went to bed very early, sleeping through, to Jebedee's relief, who was rostered again for the evening and night shift.

Jodie wanted to check him with her monitor in the morning, making sure that he was not too tired. He refused, and for the first time, was told that she had the power to veto any work that day if he refused to be checked or if she thought he was unfit. He glared at Jodie and Mark as they explained that no examination meant no work. He had been set to start work, that was what he was geared to do that day, and he disliked being forced to change his mind. He did contemplate throwing the whole thing in, they couldn't force him.

But Mark and Jodie just continued to talk, quietly and reasonably, Jodie only wanted to use the Nisco Monitor, and he finally sighed and shrugged, and consented. He didn't even object when she said that the energy levels were a bit low, and that he would have to be checked again at lunchtime, only specifying that it had to be discreetly in private. If he was going to be treated like livestock, he said, at the very least, he wanted no-one else knowing!

The following week, back home, Harry refused to hang his head, and continued to face people as if he was not disgraced forever. He visited friends, did his stint of spell-breaking with Hermione, and played with his horses. Jimmy Carr's daughter wanted to use one of the young mares for show jumping, and Harry was helping. John's two young sons were also interested in the horses. Tambo was still Harry's special horse, and Tambo was a big strong gelding, able to take Harry for long and satisfying rides.

He even had a chance to fly his broomstick. He had mentioned to Margaret that he never flew any more, as his own property was too exposed, and Hogwarts was now lost to him. She arranged for him to be allowed to join them when her team practised their Quidditch at the pitch in a valley between hills. And when the rest of the team had finished, they turned and watched as the disgraced man tumbled around in the sky, hurtling at breakneck speed into his acrobatics.

Margaret and Victoria were a great help to Harry. They had a similar outlook to life that their uncles Fred and George had, and their jokes, as well as their refusal to pretend that nothing had happened, was good for Harry.

There was a Christmas party on Saturday night hosted by Sue and Dean Thomas. They'd received a hint from Hermione, and Luna Lovegood was there too. Again, Luna and Harry became involved in lengthy talk and laughter, on into the night, until Sue and Dean became annoyed with them. Couldn't they see that the party was over?

But still, no date was made, and Hermione shook her head at the stupidity of Harry. Couldn't he _see _that Luna would make the perfect wife for him?

Christmas came, and Harry joined Ron and Hermione, their son Ben, and his own son, James, for a few hours on Christmas day. James and Ben were great friends now, although over a year apart in age, and Harry thought that the cousins would probably be lifelong friends.

Both of the boys avoided looking at him, and Harry knew from various other sources that James was being teased unmercifully at school. He even asked James if he wanted to emigrate to America or somewhere else, where they both might get an easier time. But James declined. And with the stubborn pride of his father, said that he would not be driven out of the school that was his birthright.

***chapter end***


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. _.

_Chapter 15:_

Early in January, Harry received a note from Draco Malfoy. _'Come and see me,'_ Draco said. _'It's something you need to know'_ - and Harry's heart sank. What now?

This time, Harry didn't tell the aurors that he was going to the Malfoy place. The talk was general for a while, although Harry immediately noticed an unmarked video sitting on top of a TV.

Harry mentioned that he saw that Draco's son, Lucius, was doing well. He knew that Lucius worked at the Ministry, and was quickly climbing through the ranks. Draco said that he was married now, and his wife was expecting a child.

Draco asked about Harry's family, and Harry told him that both Margaret and Victoria were planning their weddings, but that Adam was still single. The talk died, and without comment, Draco got to his feet, picked up the video, and inserted it into its slot.

Harry braced himself to watch. What now?

The filming was not very good, apparently from fixed cameras, at a little distance, but Harry recognised the scene instantly, and he felt an overwhelming despair. Smith-Burton and Griff sat in armchairs watching a TV screen. There was a sudden alarm at the appearance of himself and of Ron. Ron as well as himself was in trouble. He wished fervently that he had not allowed his best friend to go with him when he set out to kill. He could not wish that he had not killed.

Smith-Burton's wand was visible for a moment, before it vanished. There was a short gap in the film, and there they were again, now tied, and Harry was shown, not very clearly - it was from the back.

Ron had stood back for most of the time in that room, and did not appear to have been in range of the camera. Harry wondered if just maybe the friend who had stood by him would be allowed to go free.

The sound was very clear. _'I knew you'd come. You couldn't help but find me, no matter what! It was so wonderful, having you at my mercy.'_ The TV screen on the film was too far away to make out any details, but it was clear in Harry's memory.

The next part of the proceedings made it obvious that Harry was not alone. He had asked Ron if he had wanted to leave, but Ron had declined. There was silence for a moment as the players in the room watched the video, and Ron's crack of laughter when Griff was shown to have been maimed.

Harry was shown again using the controls of the video machine. And then again, some conversation. _'What happened?'_

_'It had to be you. There was no-one else.' _

Griff was shown, displaying his almost non-existent penis. Ron had tied him up again, and Harry was profoundly relieved when that part was left out. His friend was still in the clear.

Then came some more conversation. Draco had seen it several times before, but still shuddered at the deadly voice that had told Smith-Burton he was going to die.

The sound and picture of the video the men had been watching were unclear, but Harry recognised immediately that part that came before that dreadful music, and he quickly said, "Turn off the sound."

Draco glanced at him, but immediately muted the sound. There was no sound now, but Harry was seen turning toward the camera, thankfully below its line of sight when he had been violently ill.

Ron was seen taking the controls of the video, but his face was blanked out. And Harry was very thankful that at least it was only himself that his enemies seemed bent on destroying.

After a moment, Harry was seen again taking the controls. There was a pause, but Smith-Burton's face was seen, and the fascination and lust on his face was obvious. The next segment showed Harry's face, white and sweaty, and there was no way there was any possibility of his non-identification. His face had been very clearly seen.

_'It was the most incredible thing when I finally had you!'_ Smith-Burton said, very clearly audible on the film, along with the soft and tender note in his voice, that still made Harry shudder.

Harry had suggested that Ron wait outside then, and had said that he wouldn't tolerate interference. But any identifying shots of Ron had been deleted, and even his voice over-ridden with white sound. Then Harry was shown telling Griff to think of something very happy, and Griff died.

Draco shivered. This was Harry Potter whom he had gone to school with, and it appeared that he just had to think a thought, and a wizard was dead. Harry had not used his wand at any point.

The questioning of Smith-Burton began, and it could be seen that the man had become very afraid. Harry's voice, soft and deadly, was clearly heard on Draco's video. _'You are happy, now,'_ he had said. _'You can have your best fantasy, stronger and more clear than ever before.'_ And Smith-Burton's lustful fantasies showed on his face, until he shuddered in his chair, and died.

Draco Malfoy shuddered also. The cold-blooded execution of a man whom he had known all his life, by Harry whom he had known almost all his life, was frightening. And Harry was then shown casually vanishing the bodies as if they were only worthless pieces of rubbish, and this struck Draco as more chilling than all the rest. Wizards were usually buried with ceremony, their wands in their hands.

More snippets of film were shown, and Harry realised that there must have been cameras peering at them from a half dozen rooms, and at least three different viewpoints from the first room. Still there were no identifying pictures of Ron shown, neither voice nor face, only occasionally a blurred figure in the background. It could be seen that Harry had had an ally, but his identity was hidden while Harry's was very clear.

The room with all the pictures of Harry was clearly shown, as was its complete clearance. The picture lingered for some minutes on the now bare room, and the video came to an end.

"Did you receive it like this, or was it you that obliterated the identity of my companion?" he asked Draco.

"I received it like this."

"Where did you get it?"

"It turned up in the mail. There was no indication as to who sent it, and I don't know who else might have one."

Harry was silent for a time, and then said quietly, "Are you going to show anybody? You knew them, didn't you?"

Draco answered, "Andrew's been around all my life, and he's had Griff around for quite a lot of years. They were friends of my mother. But no, I won't show anyone."

"Thanks, Draco," Harry said sincerely.

Harry was quiet again, and when the maid came back in with some food and drink, he accepted.

They were both quiet for a while, before Harry asked if Draco could run it through again, and re-checked that Ron's identity was totally disguised. He was going to have to tell Ron. Somewhere there must be pictures that showed him aiding and abetting two murders. What had he done to his friend? Harry felt an acute depression. "Why did they bother? I was ruined anyway - they didn't have to try and get me for murder besides!"

Draco pointed out, "Maybe they liked Andrew and Griff!"

But Harry shuddered and said, "Nobody could like men like that!"

_**xx**_

At the Ministry, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Amelia Bones were watching the same video. There was no getting away from it. Harry Potter had cold-bloodedly killed two men. And they were pretty sure that Ron Weasley had helped, although neither said anything about Harry's companion. It was in nobody's interest to attack Ron, who was generally popular.

"You know that video we had at the Ministry that Harry destroyed?" said Kingsley to Amelia, "He had a copy of the music. He'd been trying to play it enough times that he would not be sick when he heard it."

Amelia had tears in her eyes. She had used Harry to garner prestige for the Ministry, but, quite separately, she liked him and admired him. He had such character, and those men had done such horrible things to him.

Kingsley put another thought in her head. "There have been no powerful Dark wizards since Harry's been around. Although he's not an auror or anything, his very presence deters others from trying to take power. It's not just his spell-breaking, Harry Potter is an asset to British wizardry!"

Amelia made the decision to do nothing to punish Harry Potter unless events changed. If there were enough pressure, she would have to take action.

Harry Potter had to be ready to leave the country, and he took to carrying his passport and a kitbag with travelling clothes wherever he went. He didn't know whether anyone but Draco had a copy of that video, or worse, other pieces of film that might show his friend. He didn't know that the Minister for Magic had a copy.

He could have fled the country, but he couldn't quite make up his mind to go. He'd been in exile before - for nearly four years when he had just left school, he had travelled the world, simply trying to stay alive. He had finally returned, wanting his friends, wanting his world. And now he had a family, too. There was Adam, who may not have been blood family, but was like a son anyway, and there were the girls, and there was James, who hated so much that his father was not like other fathers.

He did as he had to do, told Ron and Hermione that there was evidence in the hands of the Ministry that he had killed. He told Ron about the filming, told him that the version he had seen disguised Ron's identity, and he deeply, deeply apologised to Ron. There must be other evidence, and he only desperately hoped that Ron would escape the problems he had caused.

Ron and Hermione were very quiet. Hermione was worried for Ron, as well as for Harry. Harry, if he chose, could escape any captivity unless they drugged or somehow crippled him. Or unless they used Dementors. But Ron was as other wizards and witches. Without his wand, he was little more than an ordinary muggle. And after causing possible terrible trouble for them, Harry wanted to ask them something. Painfully, he said the bitter words - that he would probably have to leave England, and that he wanted them, if they were willing, to take charge of James until he was grown. Ben and James were such good friends.

Hermione hugged him, no matter what, he was their friend, and Ron went to him, too. They said that of course they would look after James, and Ron pointed out that he had no enemies like Harry had always had. He reckoned he was pretty safe, really. Harry hoped very much that he was right.

He called on his daughters, too. Margaret and Victoria took it in their stride that he had killed two men. They had seen him kill before, defending his family. Now he had killed to wipe out an unbearable humiliation. And when Victoria asked if he regretted killing the men, he said that he very much regretted being _filmed_ killing the men.

He didn't tell Adam, somehow he thought that Adam might condemn as much as James undoubtedly would, but he did tell him that he may very likely go overseas, probably for many years. By this time, even Adam was aware of his step-father's disgrace, although he had not seen the notorious video.

And yet, Chris Abbot contacted Harry, and asked him to call into his office as if nothing had happened. The next overseas trip was to be to Spain, an inviting prospect in the cold days of winter. So Harry shrugged, and suggested to Chris that he see if he could arrange a place by the beach.

If the blow had yet to fall, then he'd best make the most of the time remaining, and he started playing as if there were no tomorrow. His behaviour became more reckless, but he interspersed it with frequent visits to family and friends, paid enough money into his daughters' accounts for their weddings, and warned his staff that he may need to go away at short notice, without specifying why. But as very few people in the wizarding world were ignorant of the cloud he was under, they only wondered why he was still around. Most were sure that if it were themselves, they would have fled long since. Some thought that they would have had to kill themselves rather than to tolerate the disgrace.

The trips to other countries with the Ministry officials had become routine now, but Harry was tense. It had occurred to him that there might be an attempt at an arrest. Adding to his niggling suspicion was the fact that Kingsley himself was on his team this time, as well as Jebedee as usual, Bedwin and Trevor. Four instead of three.

But nothing was said, and he found that they were accommodated in a very pleasant hotel next to the sea. There was a little time available between arrival and lunch, and he insisted on exploring the beach. Bedwin was with him, walking in step. But Harry's eyes were wandering. The beach was a bit cool and windy, but there were tourists there, and he thought there was a good prospect that he could find someone to share his bed that night.

Alas for his hopes, the afternoon's work was gruelling. Kingsley hadn't been with him before, and was surprised when three patients running necessitated some work from Harry. And then there was one whom he asked to try again last.

So that patient was brought back to the room after all the others were done, and Harry threw himself into the effort to break the spell that tormented him. But when the patient was subject to the sustained thrumming of strong magic in the air, he took fright and bolted.

The sudden interruption had Harry reeling, holding his head, and Jodie went to him. But after a moment, he said he was all right, and Jodie went to the terrified patient instead, reassuring him, with the help of the translator, and Harry had another go, this time finally breaking the spell, to the joy of the thrilled Spaniard, who hugged and kissed him, ignoring the automatic recoil of Harry.

But now Harry was looking very limp and pale in his chair, and Kingsley walked close on his left hand side, as he returned to the hotel.

Kingsley was more than ever convinced that Harry Potter was needed - alive, free and well. Nobody else could ever do what he was doing, and while it was mostly without effort, to get the job done, Harry was willing to give all his strength, without stinting himself.

It was only a short walk to the hotel, and Harry paused as he passed a bakery, stopping and using some fairly lame Spanish to buy himself some sweet rolls, although politely remembering to offer Kingsley and Jodie some, who were walking with him.

A small lounge had been put at the disposal of the English group, and Harry helped himself ravenously to the rolls, although a perfectly adequate lunch had been provided, and even some afternoon tea.

Jodie was watching him assessingly, making him suddenly become self-conscious, and pretend not to be hungry at all. And when she went to her room and fetched the monitor, he groaned and may have made a bolt for it if he hadn't been so tired. She wanted to measure his weight, too. But she just wrote down the readings in her notebook, and made no comment to his relief. She knew by now how he hated being examined, and while she was convinced it was sometimes needed, she tried to keep it to a minimum.

She had noticed, though, that sometimes he seemed thinner at the end of the week than he had been at the beginning and had started to think that his workload might be too great, and this was why she had decided to start to keep track of his weight. The problem was that the workload was unpredictable. She was aware that most of his patients didn't seem to take the slightest effort from him, although mediwizards had tried before him to break the spells. But then there were the ones, three today, that needed a bit of work, and there had been the one that he had tried, and then put back to last, that had demanded all his effort.

Harry went to his room for a while, then, just lying on his bed, waiting for his normal overflowing energy to return. He had done this to himself before, considerably worse. He thought he now knew where to stop, at the point where he had still enough energy to function, but yet had given all he could spare. They knocked on his door for dinner, and he retired straight after.

But even asleep, Harry could not count on privacy from the Ministry, for when he started muttering in a nightmare, Jebedee became alarmed, got out his eavesdropping device, and then tried to enter the room. It was firmly locked, of course, by Harry, which meant that no-one else was able to undo the spell.

Jebedee called Kingsley, but Harry had woken by then, and when Kingsley knocked, opened the door at once, wondering what was wrong.

Lamely, Kingsley had to explain that they had heard talk, and thought that possibly someone was there. Harry reddened, and just muttered that he talked in his sleep sometimes, and thought that he should protect his privacy in future with a bit of magic that would prevent people hearing him. He was thoroughly awake because of his nightmare anyway, and as he was still a bit tired to risk apparation, he couldn't throw off his bodyguard. So Jebedee kept watch as he walked the beach, as far as he could go along the sand, before taking to the streets.

He was not out looking for mischief, and as soon as the quivering nerves left over from the nightmare left him, he returned to his room, ignoring Jebedee who followed him, and then took up station outside his door again. He still found it an irritation to be watched, although he should have been used to it by now.

In the morning, Jodie insisted on checking him again, again checking his weight, but he only frowned and put up with it. He told himself that, considering he could be arrested at any moment, he had very little to complain about.

The day went quickly, and he had spoken to Kingsley, who had spoken to the Spanish translator, with the result that the patients were quickly steered out the door, rather than being allowed to embrace their rescuer.

That afternoon, he went to the beach, sat for a while, alone, (Trevor and Bedwin watching from a distance) before looking directly at a woman who stopped, smiling, and joined him. Harry had set himself up for the week, and spent no more nights in the hotel.

They asked him about it. They wanted to know if he used magic, but Harry denied it. He said he just liked sex, and somehow women saw it, and were happy to share.

There were no more difficult patients for the whole week, and when Jodie checked his weight after the last of the patients, she found that it was the same as at the beginning. So Harry was left, for the present, with his workload of sixty patients per day.

_**xx**_

Still, he hadn't been arrested, and he was merely informed that the next country would be Hungary, and that they were looking at doing three weeks in America if he was agreeable. He said that was fine, and suggested a sunny beach. Chris Abbot had not been told that Harry Potter might be facing a charge of murder, and continued to make his arrangements as a matter of routine. Harry was not really reassured, and still kept his passport with him at all times.

His bodyguards found him even more of a trial these days. Harry got himself into fights in several major cities across Europe, and renewed his acquaintance with Pete and Jack in London, although he was not arrested on that occasion. Instead Jack and Pete had spent five minutes just watching him as he joyfully dodged the knife thrusts of an enraged Italian before knocking him out. They didn't know how long the fight had lasted before they got there, but Harry was untouched.

Harry's behaviour had become so erratic, and frequently so risky, that Kingsley started to routinely make himself part of the spell-breaking expeditions. And he had decided to risk loss of face - if necessary he would liaise with the local police to make sure that Harry didn't get himself into too much trouble. He was constantly concerned that one day they would find that he'd been arrested, or was at death's door in hospital, or had made it obvious to crowds of muggles that wizards were in their midst.

There was one day that Harry swam a long way out to sea, and Zack and Bedwin, with him that day, were thoroughly concerned. The episode when Harry had done that - 'going to find Ginny,' was common knowledge among the aurors, and they watched anxiously. But Harry only turned after a time, swimming adjacent to the beach for a while, before returning to shore.

At the same time as he often drove them crazy, the aurors who regularly worked with Harry became very fond of him, and Kingsley knew that if someone had to be sent to try and arrest him, he would have very few at his disposal who would make any real attempt. He felt rather the same himself. Harry might have been exasperating sometimes, frequently thoroughly irresponsible even, but he was a lot of fun to be with, and very human. They knew he frequently had nightmares, and were no longer surprised when he surfaced in the middle of the night, fully dressed, to go off on long walks.

Sometimes, they would persuade him to stay at the hotel, and talk for a while instead, but these occasions were an exception. When he woke from a nightmare, he would feel himself quivering with nerves, and want the soothing feeling of sustained exercise. Or sex. If it was not too late, and brothels stay open very late, he would visit the Paris brothel, where he was well known to several of the girls.

In common with the others who saw Harry work his cures, Kingsley was in absolute awe of Harry's powers, and had a shrewd suspicion that he didn't know the half of it! Illogically, it was the patients that Harry had difficulty with that left the others with a feeling of awe. The thrumming of strong magic in the air was terribly impressive, but maybe the numerous others that he casually cured with a wave of his wand should have impressed them more. Those were the ones that had defeated the best mediwizards of their land, and Harry cured them without the slightest effort at all.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was responsible for wizard law, and Harry had killed his kidnappers, even if both he and Amelia thought him entirely justified. He gave a lot of thought as to how he was to be treated if Madam Bones gave orders that he should face a trial, and finally concluded that unless extreme measures were taken, it would be impossible to arrest Harry unless he chose to be arrested. Harry would be treated with as much tact as possible, and no attempt would be made to constrain him unless he was sentenced to a prison term. If that were to happen, Harry would probably simply ignore anti-disapparation charms, and disapparate anyway, to leave the country.

There was another thing that had occurred to others before him. If no-one could control Harry Potter, what happened if he did become murderous or mad? Only death could stop him then. But Kingsley thought of the Dementors, too. Britain had used these foul creatures to guard the wizard prison in the past, but stopped when they had joined the Dark Wizard, Voldemort. Dementors could probably keep Harry a prisoner, but Kingsley thought that Harry would far prefer to be killed than kept by Dementors.

Kingsley thought he kept these ominous thoughts to himself, but Harry looked at him sometimes with a shadowed glance, and tended to react by becoming more reckless than ever.

At home, he encouraged his horse to buck and twist and do his best to throw him, as if it was some wonderful game. At other times they would gallop as hard as possible across the moors until they were both exhausted.

There was a woman every night. Most of his English girlfriends lasted a few months, but this was not enough for him these days, and girlfriends overlapped. He still tried to ensure that he never left a woman hurting. He chose those women who were looking for sex, as he himself was, not those looking for a husband.

He went to his daughters' Quidditch matches, for a time losing his cares in the thrill of the game.

Victoria and Margaret put their weddings forward, as they loved their father, and wanted him present. They were married from Molly Weasley's house, as Harry could not bring himself to sacrifice the secrecy of his own home. He still seemed to have plenty of money in his vault, and was able to give them enough money for a first class honeymoon each.

If he had to go away, he wanted his children well provided for, and he worked at building up his wealth by increasing sales of various of his old inventions, though he didn't seem to be able to sustain interest long enough to make anything new. His secretary reminded him again about the pitifully small pay he was getting for his spell-breaking work overseas, and he thought again that he should do something about it.

With his reckless behaviour it wasn't surprising that he was sometimes hurt. And one Wednesday in Denmark, Kingsley and Zack picked him up from a muggle hospital, bruised, battered and concussed. But the only thing that upset him was that his glasses had been lost.

They had had to call off the day's work, to the annoyance of the Danes, but Harry was indifferent.

Chris Abbot, the Coordinator, who was along that time, rebuked him, telling him he was being paid well for his work, and should take more care. But Harry, from his chair, told him the figure that he had cleared for his work in Italy the week before last. Christopher was stunned. He was in charge of the arrangements, but not the money, and he was furious with Stan, the head of Department, for being so stingy.

Kingsley and Jebedee were present, too, and were horrified. It was much less than their own pay. From then on, Harry's pay was drastically increased, and his secretary ceased to nag him about it.

He had a severe headache that day, but Zack retrieved his kitbag that had been left behind when he was hurt, and, to his relief, his wand was still in it. It was an effective charm that protected the little bag.

His glasses were still lost, and Kingsley watched as he repeatedly attempted to conjure a replacement. He was using his wand, as he always did when others were present, but he kept trying the glasses he conjured, and vanishing them again. It was just not working.

But only a few hours after, to his relief, he was presented with a spare pair of glasses that Kingsley had organised be sent from home, with the help of Hermione. And this time, with his own glasses as a model, he managed to conjure some adequate, if not perfect, spares. He had always hated being without his glasses - they were more than just a help, they were a necessity for him. He still had it in mind that he might have to flee, and losing his glasses at the wrong time would be an awful hindrance to an escape.

He thought that his home was still hidden from the Ministry, but he had lived there a long time now, with employees coming and going, as well as his family, including the new husbands of his girls.

He was quick to recover, and was able to do the following day's work without trouble, but extra patients were loaded onto Thursday, and work went on into Friday as well because of the missed day's work. There were more difficult patients, too, in the last two days, and Jodie found that there was a significant weight loss by the end of the week, and insisted to the Ministry, without reference to Harry, that his workload be decreased.

Harry's skill at breaking difficult spells was very well known now, and almost forgotten patients were sometimes unearthed from hospitals and institutions where they had been living for decades. These were often almost impossible - it seemed to be harder when it had been many years since the spell was imposed. Harry found his list of failures growing. It bothered him, but he was giving all he could.

Two or three times, he pushed just a little too hard, knowing that the spell was just on the point of breaking, winding up curing the patient, but on the floor in an embarrassing faint himself. He nearly always recovered quickly, and his exhaustion meant that he was quiet for an evening, to the relief of his minders. But Kingsley changed some of the aurors, and now Harry was surrounded by large strong men, who could pick him up from the floor and apparate with him if necessary. There were never female aurors. Although there had been nothing with Jodie, Kingsley didn't want to risk having his aurors in bed with their charge!

The overseas work was decreasing, and Stan told him he was to have a month's holiday. They were planning to do some reassessing of the arrangements, and maybe the workload. Harry wondered if the sword that was hanging over his head was about to fall, but still nothing happened.

He seemed to finally be living down his notoriety. His refusal to hide meant that his acquaintances gradually forgot that different aspect of him that they had seen on a certain video, and the hotel that he had burned down was rebuilt, with a different theme.

Full wizard trials were infrequent, most matters being dealt with just by a Disciplinary Hearing. But they did happen, and Harry Potter was called to duty at this time as a member of the Wizemgamot. The great wizards and witches of the day treated him as one of themselves, showing as much respect as ever. There were no sniggering jeers, no groping hands, and the curious looks seemed to have diminished drastically.

Harry still had no qualms of conscience about playing the part of a respectable and respected great wizard. He felt that every killing he had done had been fully justified. He just hoped not to be held accountable in the eyes of wizard law.

Others were not happy that the man they thought had been destroyed, still held his head high, and was again being listened to.

***chapter end***


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 16:_

Hermione continued to expose Harry to Luna Lovegood, and still couldn't work out why he was so slow to do anything about it. The truth was that Harry hadn't thought of it. Every witch in his world had always known exactly who he was, and treated him differently because of it. So he had always looked to muggles for sex, and now it was invariable habit.

He had married Ginny, of course, but Ginny was different, and anyway, it had been Ginny who had abruptly announced that they were getting married, although it was to Harry's overwhelming joy.

Hermione spoke to Ron, and Ron made a suggestion. From the time that Harry had first become sexually active, he had tended to allow the woman to make the first overt move. He did not fully realise himself that he put a powerful allure into his expression and into his voice, that encouraged that apparent first move. Harry appeared often to be the seduced, rather than the seducer, but he would never have had the success that he did, attractive man or not, if there was not that thing extra that he had - somehow he could radiate an aura of sexuality that was very hard to resist.

Ron suggested to Hermione that she simply tell Luna to make the first move. Maybe Harry only had to have it put into his silly head that witches liked sex, too.

Hermione suggested it, but Luna was hesitant. Harry was still so attractive, and she was forty-eight, no longer young. In spite of three husbands, in spite of a wide experience of sex, Luna shied away from the thought of trying to seduce Harry. What if he thought she was too ugly to go to bed with?

_**xx**_

Early in April, Harry galloped furiously along the edge of a road on Tambo. It was after dark, but Tambo seemed perfectly able to see in the moonlight. Harry was riding bareback as he usually did, and he hadn't even bothered putting a pretend bridle on the horse that day. The easy communication that he had with his horses was such that aids were not needed - except to pretend to muggles that he was normal.

Around the corner from the other direction came a speeding car, dazzling them both in the headlights. Tambo leapt to the side, lost his footing in the mud, and fell into the ditch. Harry was thrown, and hit his head very hard on the stone wall, ending three quarters under water in the deep ditch, his head luckily still above the surface of the water.

The car stopped. There had been a horse, but had there been a rider? Tambo pulled himself to his feet as he was approached. He was trembling, but seemed unhurt. The loose horse had no saddle or bridle, and the men finally turned him into a nearby field so that he wouldn't cause any more accidents, and continued on their way.

The horse looked after the car. Why had they not helped his man? He jumped the fence and went back to Harry, knocked out, bleeding from a head wound, and lying in cold water.

All that night, Tambo stood close to Harry, breathing warm air into his face now and then, and waiting for help. It was a little used road, and no-one came.

The day dawned. Harry still made no move. He had a fractured skull, and he had been in water all the cold night. Tambo was more and more unhappy, and when he saw movement at Max's place in the distance, he started calling, again and again, as loudly as he could, until Max came to investigate. Tambo would not leave his man, but Max misinterpreted his lack of movement at first, assuming the horse was injured.

It was only when he came very close, and Tambo dropped his head and blew over Harry's face, did Max discover his neighbour.

Harry was taken to the local muggle hospital, and treated for a fractured skull and exposure.

Within the day, Kingsley received news that there was a Harry Potter in a muggle hospital. This was an automatic process, the name of Harry Potter being magically scanned from police and hospital records, along with the names of several other witches and wizards of interest to the auror department. Kingsley kept it quiet - maybe it was a different Harry Potter, but he investigated personally, and found Harry with his head bandaged, talking weakly to his friend and neighbour.

Tambo was unhurt, to Harry's relief, and not for the first time, Harry thought that he really should be a lot more careful. His stupid behaviour could hurt others beside himself, and he loved his horse - they had such good times together.

Max looked up when he saw Kingsley, discerning that same feeling of power that he had once felt when he had seen Harry with Professors Snape and Dumbledore. He guessed immediately that Kingsley was from Harry's world, and, although Harry politely introduced them, he only lingered long enough to let slip that he was Harry's neighbour before tactfully leaving.

While Harry's head still hurt, he was thinking clearly enough to know that Kingsley now would be able to quite easily find his hidden home. His head hurt too much to consider how much it mattered.

Kingsley sat beside Harry, and asked him how he was.

"Just a broken head," said Harry. "I'll be right in a few days."

Curiously, Kingsley asked, "Can you still do magic?"

"I guess so, my wand's at home, so I haven't tried."

But Kingsley had known for years that Harry could do some magic without his wand, although it was generally thought that he could do it only when fighting, an extension of the accidental magic that can happen when a wizard is frightened or angry. But Kingsley had now seen a video that showed Harry deliberately killing wizards and vanishing their bodies, without any hint of a wand in sight.

He got down to business. "If you want to protect the secrecy of your home, it would be best if I take you as quietly as possible to St. Mungo's."

Harry started to nod, but it hurt his head, so he just said, "Yes, please."

"Very well, I'll talk to your doctor."

When Kingsley returned to Harry, he found Harry with his eyes closed, lines of pain on his face. He had learned that Harry was a lot more sick than he had thought, too, so decided to fetch Hermione before moving him.

Hermione spoke to Harry's doctor and received some reports of a distinctly abnormal and puzzling brain scan, although early indications of pneumonia had cleared up very quickly. The Ministry could exert a lot of influence when it wanted, and Harry was gently loaded into an ordinary ambulance, which was taken out of sight of muggles. Then Harry was helped up, and Kingsley held the drooping figure and they apparated into St. Mungo's.

Hermione took over his care in St. Mungo's. and an auror was stationed in his room which was further protected by an anti-apparation spell. His room was constantly guarded outside, as well.

Harry's head still hurt, and Hermione refused to mend the broken temporal bone, talking of swelling and bruising of the brain, until Harry understood that it had to be left for a while. Hermione knew that Harry could do a lot himself, and was worried that he would try and heal the broken bone in order to stop the ceaseless pain in his head. He consistently refused potions, saying that they didn't work, but Hermione thought that it was more that he had developed a fear of potions.

Aside from the pain in his head, there was nothing much wrong with Harry, but he was kept quiet, with few visitors allowed. Old Molly Weasley visited, Harry very firm that she was to be allowed in, although only his immediate family was allowed to visit otherwise, and even those were asked not to stay long. Harry would really have preferred no visitors at all, except for Molly Weasley, who seemed to know that just being there in silence was the best that she could do. It was too hard for Harry to talk right now, as the pain in his head was constant and fierce.

After a few days, the pain started to ease, and he straightaway began to be bored and restless. He was in a private ward, and Hermione insisted that he had to stay for a few days yet. There was always an auror in the room with him, although Harry was convinced that he was in no danger these days. Hadn't his enemies seen him thoroughly humiliated, his influence destroyed? Wasn't that enough?

But it seemed that he was wrong. One day, he started to hungrily attack his dinner, when he froze, fork halfway to his mouth, stared at the food, and put his fork down. Zack was in the corner, in a chair, reading a book.

"Zack?" he said. "I think they've poisoned my food. Do you reckon you can organise me another meal?"

Harry was right, as was soon discovered, and from then on, Harry's meals were also guarded carefully.

The pain in his head had lessened to a continuous throb, but when Harry tried to read a book to keep himself amused, he found that not only was it difficult to focus, but the pain immediately sharpened. Miraculously he still had his glasses, not even broken, but he could not read.

Harry was accustomed to activity, and the feeling that time was short, that had been driving him in the last months, reappeared. Now Hermione and his nurses found him, as often as not, swiftly pacing the floor, or looking longingly out the window, even though he still couldn't safely walk without his cane.

The aurors that guarded him for his protection, (although Harry sometimes wondered if they were just guarding him,) tried to give Harry as much privacy as they could, although that was difficult when they had to be in the room with him always. But in the last day or two, as Harry improved, they found that they were in demand to keep him amused, and he was giving his nurses some very hot looks these days, too. He had been without sex for a week now, and he was not accustomed to such an intolerable deprivation.

They saw his nightmares too, Zack and Jebedee and Bedwin, those times when he would whimper and toss in his sleep, and finally wind up wide awake and shaking in fear. They were nearly a nightly occurrence these days, when he had a fear that new attempts might shortly be made to confine him.

The daytimes were better, as visitors were allowed in now, and the room became more lively. Harry still had a constant headache, but it was no longer severe, and he had been nagging Hermione to let him go home. She just kept saying that it would not be long, and she would use a device touched to his side of his head and say just another day or two. Harry had frowned at her the last time, saying impatiently that he'd fix it himself if she didn't get a move on.

Luna came most days, now that he was allowed visitors, and the aurors would watch and listen as they argued theories of magic, or dissected an incident of historical importance, often putting a new interpretation on its significance. Luna owned and edited the paper that her father had started, although the Quibbler was now a lot less weird, and a lot more erudite. But when she brought a copy in for him, Harry discovered to his frustration that he still could not read without a pain that pierced his head.

One day, there was a lively discussion on the transitory nature of Trabeculocution, but then Luna abruptly fell silent and looked uncomfortable. She had decided that she would do as Hermione suggested, not propose marriage as Ginny had done, but definitely propose something, and she quietly asked if she could talk to him in private.

Harry wondered what she wanted, his mind instantly flying to possible further embarrassing revelations that were about to come out about his time in captivity. He asked Zack if he minded waiting outside for a little.

Zack protested, saying that there were orders that he was to stay in the room at all times. Harry stood from his chair, and said quietly, "Please, Zack," and the quiet voice had such authority that Zack found himself outside the door without knowing quite how he'd been convinced to ignore his firm orders.

Luna was still silent, but Harry just sat calmly in the chair next to hers, and waited. And finally she spoke, red-faced, and looking at the wall. "It seems to me," she said, "that we have a good time together, and I need sex and so do you. I think we should get together as closer friends."

Her face reddened further, as Harry looked at her blankly. This was the last thing he had expected, and he said that to her, blankly, "I never thought of you that way."

Luna quickly stood, stifling tears, and Harry swiftly added, "But I could, I certainly could," and his voice dropped and that look of desire that was the irresistible temptation for so many women was suddenly evident, and the relationship changed.

Once finally put into his head, he found he had an overwhelming desire for his dear friend. He suggested that they apparate to a place that he knew, whispering the coordinates to her of the apparation zone in his own home. He had completely forgotten that a charm protected his room from apparators, coming or going. Luna refused. While there had been a lot of urging from Hermione to tell him what she wanted, Hermione knew Harry, and had warned Luna that he was strictly not allowed to leave the hospital.

But Harry wanted her desperately now, and ran his hand through tousled hair, and projected such an air of purest sexuality that Luna waved her wand at the door, sealing it, and they gave each other the satisfaction they both craved, once and again before Luna's face flamed as she remembered where they were, and that there were watchers just outside the door, who might even have heard them in their pleasure.

She wouldn't look at them as she left, ducking away quickly from curious looks before Zack returned to the room. But Zack and Jebedee knew what had happened, the listening device that was routine equipment for aurors having been used just to confirm that Harry was not under attack. When Zack returned to the room, he picked up his book and quietly started to read, leaving Harry in a new ease of body, and a new excitement of spirit.

The following day, Hermione saw Luna and knew instantly that the relationship had changed. She went to Harry, checked with the device, and finally fixed the head fracture.

To Harry's disappointment, the headache did not instantly disappear, and she also told him that he was still not allowed to apparate. She suggested that if he liked he could leave hospital, and stay with them for a few days. Harry accepted with gratitude, but quickly after moved to Luna's place that was only a short distance away, easily accessible by floo powder.

It was only a few days after, that Harry thought himself completely recovered, although Healer Granger would not give him a medical clearance to do his work until a further two weeks had passed, and was only then convinced when Chris Abbot, the Coordinator, told her it was to be an easy and short week in a small country, and going on the following week to another, where there were still few patients, but that it was hoped that Harry would try and teach his methods to some selected highly talented mediwizards.

Harry was deliriously happy. With Luna he found a companion who could match him both intellectually and sexually, and if she sometimes had some quite whacky ideas, he thought that there was always a grain of truth in them, even in the ones that seemed the furthest from conventional wisdom. It was not as if he was entirely normal himself, after all.

The aurors found him a changed person when he joined them for the next trip. He was happy and relaxed, no longer was driven to reckless behaviour, and retired to his room early every night, apparently to sleep through. But Kingsley became suspicious on the third night, knocked at his door, found no answer, tried the doorknob, and entered the room to find it empty. Harry was returning to Luna every night, but as it was a bit too far for apparation to be thought possible, had not mentioned it to his minders.

The next day, Harry was sitting in the sun eating an ice-cream, Kingsley, Eli and Jodie with him, Kingsley and Eli feeling a bit foolish, as they too, had been persuaded to have an ice-cream, although Jodie had refused. They thought it was undignified, childish.

Harry was feeling a simple and uncomplicated enjoyment. He had cast aside worry about a murder trial for the time being, it had been four months since he had seen that video and still nothing had happened. His pleasure was contagious, and they were laughing and having a good time, although Kingsley had rebuked Harry for leaving Jebedee guarding an empty room. Harry apologised and suggested blithely that all the aurors go home. He didn't need watching, he said, as he said every few weeks - they were wasting their time, whether his room was empty or not.

Harry was contented enough that he didn't even object when Chris Abbot turned up with a photographer in tow.

The day after, they were doing exactly the same thing. The work was light, and there was an ice-cream shop just outside. There was even a beach nearby, a perfect place, Harry thought. Only Eli had been bullied into having an ice-cream this time, and Jodie was reading the Daily Prophet, the pictures frozen into stillness as they were in a muggle area. She handed it to Harry. "Look, our picture's in the paper."

Harry took the paper, looked at the happy photograph of the group eating their ice-creams, and then read the article, which was about the spell-breaking work that Harry was doing. He looked surprised, and read it again, carefully. "It's positive!" he said, "Not a sly hint, not a double entendre! You'd think that nothing had happened." He looked at his companions. "Do you think I'm finally living it down?"

Jodie and Eli were smiling at him, but Kingsley was looking fathomless, and Harry looked for a long moment at the expressionless face of the head of the auror department, and announced that he was walking on the beach for a time, and would meet them back at the hotel.

But still nothing happened.

***chapter end***


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 17:_

Minister Bones was resisting pressure. Harry Potter was invaluable to British wizardry, she would tell those powerful people who had received copies of a certain incriminating video. We need him. No-one else can cure the people he can cure, and she reminded a certain Barry Alston that a few weeks ago, his own nephew had been relieved of a problem that had resulted from a duel. Alston dropped his representations, but there were others, and Madam Bones suspected that if nothing was done, yet more people would receive copies of the incriminating evidence.

Harry and Luna spent a long and contented weekend at his place, sleeping together in what had been a spare bedroom, as they were both reluctant to use the bedroom he had shared with Ginny. But Ginny was gone, and on the Sunday, he went through and cleared everything out of the room, retrieving his clothing and a few odd possessions, but vanishing all the furniture, and touching the wallpaper with his wand, so that it became a quiet beige, with its former pattern obliterated.

The next day, he reported to the Ministry for work again. This time he was expecting to try and teach others how to break the spells that he broke, usually so easily. He thought he should have made this attempt long ago, but suspected that it would be useless. It just seemed that no-one else had the pure power that he could summon at will.

The sword that hung over him seemed to recede, as Kingsley didn't come this time, and had only rostered on Mark and Eli, two aurors instead of the four that had dogged him for the last few months.

Harry tried hard to teach his students, most newly qualified mediwizards, to break the spells he broke. He would try and convey an obscure idea, _"Feel_ the spell. Just get under the edge, and lever it away." And he paced excitedly as the most talented witch of the country sought to do what he said, urging her on, "Just a little more, just a bit of a push!"

But none of them had any success whatsoever, and he finally suggested to the Swiss Coordinator that it was a waste of time. A few of the would-be students went back to their usual work then, but some stayed on just to watch, not that there was normally much to see, just a casual wave of the wand and a few words chanted unnecessarily, as Harry thought that the patients deserved some slight ceremony, as the spells were broken that had often plagued them for years.

On the Wednesday afternoon, a pumpkin-head was led in, to Harry's consternation. It was years since he'd seen one of these, and then he'd failed. He thought he'd try again, maybe it would be different this time, but he said that this patient would be put to last.

The Swiss Coordinator, though, said that the last three were all pumpkin-heads, and Harry went out to the waiting room to see. Two more pumpkin-heads sat stolidly, each accompanied by a carer.

Harry explained that he almost certainly could do nothing with these, but he went to the first, touched the limp hand, and tried to feel for the person within. Or for the spell. He could feel nothing. He tried the second and the third, and this time, he turned to the carer, and asked how long the person had been like that.

It was only three weeks, he learned. Harry began to be excited. Maybe he could do something with this one, he could feel the spell, and there was a chink that he could attempt to use to lever it away, a crude description of a subtle process. But he called a halt. 'A short break,' he said. And he took a couple of leftover biscuits from afternoon tea, and went to lean against the wall outside, eating them.

Jodie joined him. "Do you think you have a chance?" she asked.

"I don't know. There's a difference with this one."

He paused for a moment, "Jodie, do you think you could warn everyone in the room that there'll be a strange feeling in the air? I don't want people messing me up when I'm concentrating, I'd rather they left before I start."

Jodie went to do the job he asked. She knew that often people became frightened when they felt the very strong magic that Harry could generate, but only two of the remaining eight mediwizards left. The others remained, anticipating.

Harry had a slightly different air when he returned to the room, he knew he was going to have to really work at this one, and he was pleased that he had warned Luna that there could be times when he would be too tired to return to her. There were still too many in the room for his liking, and he told them that it would be really better if they left. But if they stayed it was very important that he not be interrupted. It hurt him, he said, when he was interrupted. Jodie knew what was coming, and braced herself. She hated the feeling of strong magic in the air.

One of the students asked, "If you succeed, how is he likely to react. He's been in something like a prison for three weeks."

Harry half grinned, remembering his own three weeks' imprisonment, "Then he'll probably be very hungry," adding, "If he comes out panicking, I'll leave it to you to do something. You're the mediwizards! But I don't know whether I can do it, and if I can't do this one, there's no point in even trying the others."

He glanced around, "Last chance - please leave, or stay very still and quiet."

The Swiss Coordinator suddenly left the room, followed by another. The mediwizards conferred, and two came closer. They were ready to go to the patient if he came out of the spell panicking or aggressive.

The pumpkin-head was led in, and Harry warned the carer that there would be a frightening feeling in the air, and that he would be better waiting outside. The carer looked at the wizard, who was unconsciously projecting a feeling of power and authority already, even though he'd seemed quite ordinary earlier, and he left.

It was time. Harry said again to his audience, "Absolutely no interruptions." They were silent, expectant.

Harry turned to the pumpkin-head. There was a person still there. He could feel him, and he wanted very much to free him. Harry Potter raised his wand. Almost imperceptibly, a feeling began to be felt in the air. Almost a tingling, almost a humming, it grew, gradually intensifying, until it filled the room with a strong and indefinable something that grabbed at the heartstrings and made the mind hurt.

Jodie and Eli were backed against the wall, some of the students clutched their chairs, as if they felt they might be whisked away by a strong wind. Only the pumpkin-head just stood where he had been put, stolid, unmoving. No-one interrupted, there was dead silence.

Harry was trembling. Just a little more, just a bit more power, and the feeling intensified just a touch more. He was nearly there, he could feel it. So nearly, but he was shaking now, pale faced, and the magic died down, the pumpkin-head was unchanged, and Harry slumped to the floor. Again, he had given too much.

Jodie hurried to his side, she knew this would happen. For the last few minutes as he became more pale, and had started to tremble, she had wanted to stop him, but he had said no interruptions - that interruptions hurt him. And when he was generating such great power, she was afraid of what would happen if he was suddenly interrupted. Perhaps the shock would kill him.

Harry woke two hours later, feeling very feeble, lying on his bed at the hotel. He was still dressed, but his cape had been removed, and his shirt sleeve pushed above the crook of his elbow. This was where Jodie always put the Nisco Monitor. He blinked at the ceiling for a few minutes, before rather slowly and carefully sitting up.

Jodie sat at a desk, making notes. The monitor was lying close by. She had been using it every ten minutes, watching with fascination as the sensitive device showed that he was making a rapid recovery. It seemed that he had spent all the energy he had readily available, and then run himself into debt. The energy reading was rockbottom, but the LV reading had dropped, too. It was like he had started to feed his own self into the effort. Instead of what she thought was his normal reading of 105, she had found a reading of only 85 when he had collapsed on the floor - that of an old or sick man. But then it fairly rapidly started increasing again to near normal.

She very much wanted to discuss the intriguing findings with someone, but she knew that Harry would refuse to listen, and there was no other mediwizard available. She thought she might seek out Healer Granger again when they got home.

She looked up when he sat, but Harry scarcely glanced at her, his gaze fixing unerringly on a plate of sandwiches and sweet rolls, and a jug of what was probably coffee. Just what he needed. He ignored Jodie's eyes on him and went straight to the food. He was extremely hungry.

A little later, feeling a lot better, he left his room, finding Mark and Eli standing in the corridor, with Kingsley, who had apparently just joined them. Eli had been telling Kingsley what Harry had been doing, and Kingsley turned to him, saying. "Another pumpkin-head? You do get into trouble with pumpkin-heads!"

Harry answered, betraying his frustration. "I was so close!" continuing, "It was only three weeks since it happened, and I could still feel the spell. But I just didn't have enough power." He frowned, "Kingsley, why are you here?"

Kingsley only said, "Mark tells me tomorrow's patients have been postponed."

Harry nodded, Jodie had told him that, and he was even in agreement. He didn't feel up to much at the moment. "Why did you come, Kingsley?"

Harry still looked very pale, and Kingsley suddenly noticed there was a cane in his hand. "Tomorrow, I'll talk to you tomorrow," and Harry knew that the blow was about to fall.

After a moment, he took his gaze off Kingsley, who was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, and thanked Eli for bringing him home, thinking it lucky that he was such a large man, not knowing that the choice of the aurors that surrounded him now took into account that they might sometimes have to pick him up from the floor.

Harry had long since decided what he would do if he were charged with the killings. Unless they tried to hold him prisoner, which he knew he would not be able to tolerate, he would face his trial, and ask Draco Malfoy to defend him, as Draco had offered to do long before Harry had known that he would need defending.

If he were sentenced to prison, however, he would have to leave the country - and he didn't really see how he could avoid a prison sentence. If the Ministry had the evidence of the video, then it was undeniable that he had killed. Wizard law, like muggle law, would not admit the excuse of provocation. To be in accordance with the law, what he should have done is to notify the Ministry aurors of whatever he knew, and leave it to them to administer justice. And still Harry did not regret for an instant killing Andrew Smith-Burton, or his friend Griff. There had been times in this last difficult year when he had felt that it was only the fact that his rapists were dead, that had enabled him to face himself, as well as to face the world.

But he could not apparate right now, or at least should not, and Kingsley was there. How could he sleep knowing that he might wake up a prisoner? Kingsley might even have considered using Dementors. Harry thought that he would not be able to escape Dementors. He passed out if they even came near. But Kingsley wouldn't do that to him, surely. Unless he thought it his duty, and then he might.

Mark and Eli didn't know what was wrong, but there was a tension in the atmosphere, as Harry just stood, keeping his balance with the help of his cane, and stared into the distance. Then he spoke again, quietly, to Kingsley, "After dinner?" Kingsley nodded.

Jodie watched Harry at dinner. It seemed that he was still hungry, eating to make up for his energy expenditure of the day. She wanted to do her readings again afterward, and Harry tolerated it without comment.

And then Kingsley and Harry went together into a small loungeroom, leaving Eli outside to guard their privacy. Mark was resting. He was to do the night shift, and he needed some rest.

Harry sat and waited. Kingsley handed him a large and official looking letter, and then Kingsley sat, and waited.

The trial was to be on the 9th June, a Tuesday. Harry was charged with the unlawful killing of Andrew Smith-Burton, the Sixth, and of Mr. Robin Griffin, (AKA Griff.) The Wizemgamot would be called in. This was to be a full trial.

Harry had served as a member of the Wizemgamot for over ten years. Now he would face them as the accused prisoner.

"What evidence do you have?" Harry quietly asked Kingsley.

"There is a video, received in the mail some months ago. There are several others who have also received copies, more recently."

Harry was thinking of Ron. Was his friend still in the clear? "Can you describe the video to me?"

Kingsley answered, sick at heart for what Harry was to be put through. He had a great regard for Harry Potter, but he had his duty to do. "Your companion is not shown," he started. "Bits have been left out, and his face and voice disguised."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was unbearable to think that he had caused trouble for Ron, but it appeared that the trouble was just for him.

Kingsley was not out to trick Harry into any admissions, or to try and deceive him in any way. So, as best as he could remember, he described what was on the film, confirming in Harry's mind that it was the same that he had seen at Draco's place.

"Are you going to arrest me?" he asked the head of the Auror Department.

"No, but I'd appreciate it if you stayed out of the public eye until it's over, and allow yourself to be escorted into the court room by aurors. Are you going to face the trial then?"

Harry was looking at the floor. "I think so," But he looked up at Kingsley and spoke honestly, "I can't tolerate being tied or chained in any way. I would panic, I think."

Kingsley was worried, the chair in the courtroom had chains. The chains were magic, and would act of their own volition to restrain a prisoner, but Harry knew about the chair, and Kingsley only asked, "Would you hurt someone?"

Harry shook his head, and smiled bitterly. "I'm harmless. I'd probably only hurt myself."

Harry retired early, Kingsley looking at the closed door and wondered whether he'd be there in the morning. And later in the evening, Jodie gave in to temptation, and broke her patient's dubious rights to privacy by talking about what he had done. That he had gone beyond tired, and used up his own essential life force in the vain attempt to free the prisoner.

Thursday passed quietly. They were close to the beach yet again. Chris always tried to give Harry this, his one expressed preference, and Harry spent a large portion of the day just sitting on a garden bench watching the waves roll in. He was still eating more than usual, and Jodie observed and used her monitor whenever she thought he would not be too irritated. His weight was still down, although the LV reading was nearly normal again, and the energy reading was climbing. His cane was gone, but he was by no means his normal energetic self. Jodie had definitely decided that she wanted to consult with Hermione Granger. It was not that she particularly needed advice, it's just that she wanted someone else to talk with, about the fascination of watching a great wizard recover from using great magic.

Kingsley was still with the group, watching and waiting to see if Harry would disappear. Mark, Eli and Jodie didn't know yet that he was facing a trial. Neither Harry nor Kingsley had mentioned it. It would be public knowledge soon enough.

Friday, Harry had the job of completing the patients that had been put off from Thursday. There had been yet more pumpkin-heads listed, but Harry had only spent a few minutes trying and failing to feel the spell or the person. They were none of them recent, and he declined to make the attempt. There was only one patient a little difficult, and they felt a slight tingling in the air for a moment before the spell abruptly broke, and the man lost his antlers.

The Swiss mediwizards and the Swiss Coordinator were displaying their awe of Harry. Even though he had failed, they had felt his power, and they irritated him by treating him as some rare specimen, until Kingsley intervened, asking that he be left alone, as he was still fatigued from his effort of Wednesday.

At lunch, Jodie was reading her Daily Prophet, which she still liked to get even though no-one else bothered when they were overseas. She laughed, "How ridiculous! They say you're under arrest, and about to be put on trial for murder."

Harry said quietly, "May I look?"

It was a brief article, with no photograph and few details. But it did state that the murders had been committed the day after Harry's escape, and that it appeared definite that the murder victims were those who had kept Harry captive.

"It's not true," Jodie said, in a hushed voice.

"It's true," said Harry, rather grimly, "The trial is for June 9th."

Eli stared at him too. Was Harry supposed to be his prisoner now then? Kingsley spoke reassuringly, "Harry won't be arrested at this stage, but I want to be discreet. Don't tell anyone he's still free."

Harry shivered. He knew logically that while they might succeed in arresting him, they would find it almost impossible to keep him, but he was still afraid. Kingsley's words that he was still free, as if that might change at any moment, sent a chill through him. He wondered again if he should just leave. He could disapparate straight to Australia if he wanted, but he had spent years in exile before. He didn't want to lose his home, his world, his family and his friends. And Luna, whom he'd only just found. He clung to hope, even though he could see no way he could avoid punishment for his crime. The proof of the killings was undeniable.

When the days' work was done, early in the afternoon, Harry gave Jodie one more opportunity to take her readings, and thanked her for looking after him so well. He didn't expect to see much more of her now, although he might easily see more of the aurors than he wanted.

When it came time to leave, Harry suggested that he go independently, and that way no-one would see that he was not already a prisoner. Kingsley nodded. If Harry chose to leave, they would not be able to stop him. He had a sneaking hope that he would leave. Like Harry, he didn't see how he could avoid punishment for his crime, except by flight. He had killed unlawfully, and wizard law admitted no excuse. He hated being set against Harry, whom he had tried to look after, even though Harry had often seemed determined to send him more white than he was already.

Jodie seemed to blame Kingsley that Harry was to stand trial, and she told him, forcefully, that the effort Harry had put in that week, had left him nearly half a stone lighter, and he still had not recovered in other ways also. "He's a good man!" she said, "He half kills himself sometimes for other people - and he doesn't have to do it!"

Kingsley only said, "I had no choice!"

Eli was condemning, too. "If it had been you, wouldn't you have wanted to kill?" And when Mark, who had been resting after his night on duty, joined them for the trip home, poor Kingsley was treated as if he was the criminal himself.

Harry, on the other hand, knew he was being treated with unprecedented consideration. He was grateful to Kingsley, and abided by his request that he not be seen in public. The public's perception was to be that the Ministry had complete control, and that Harry Potter was securely under arrest. He apparated straight to his own home, and visited Margaret, his secretary, who, for some reason, was looking at him with less disapproval than usual. A Daily Prophet was lying on her desk. She said nothing, and he chose not to refer to the trial himself, except for stating that it should not be mentioned to anyone that he was still at large.

A familiar letter lay in one of the piles. It was the routine contact for a member of the Wizemgamot, requesting his service at the trial of Harry Potter, June 9th. In spite of himself, Harry laughed. A bit of a slip by somebody!

There was a note from Draco Malfoy, requesting his attendance as soon as possible. It was dated a couple of days before, and Harry assumed, like always, Draco had known what the Ministry would do, almost before the Ministry did.

He flipped through the other mail that Margaret thought demanded his personal consideration, and then went to the Malfoy Mansion.

Draco Malfoy welcomed him in a matter of fact manner, and when Harry was offered coffee and rolls, he accepted. He was planning to put his trust and hopes in the hands of Draco Malfoy. It would not have made sense to then refuse his hospitality for fear of poison.

Draco went straight to business. He had already been preparing, and had a plan prepared. All he could do if he wanted to stay in England, was to throw himself on the mercy of the court. The killings were proven, and while he did not rebuke Harry for killing, he did rebuke him for so casually disposing of the bodies. Draco thought that that callous act might lose him more support than any other.

To ask for pity went severely against the grain for Harry, but he had already been so exposed to the world, did it really matter any more if those other shameful incidents were also displayed? Draco assured him that only by showing all the facts, by using the full and unabridged film of his captivity, would he have the slightest chance of escaping a long prison sentence.

Draco Malfoy was a manipulator of people. Harry had seen him at work defending criminals before. He was good, and demanded and received a lot of money for his work. Now it was Harry Potter who was the criminal whom Draco would defend.

Draco was not entirely honest with Harry Potter. Harry was to be manipulated too. He planned to use some very embarrassing muggle medical reports, but did not choose to tell Harry, and while he assured Harry that the music that made him so sick would be silenced, he had no intention of doing so. If his client were to be seen being helplessly and violently ill at the sudden blast of Tchaikovski, it would be very effective, possibly his winning move.

Draco Malfoy planned to do his utmost to have Harry Potter get away with murder, even if that meant that every one of the wizard and witches on the Wizemgamot had to be brought to ignore the facts, and declare him not guilty in spite of his totally obvious guilt.

Harry didn't entirely trust Draco, although he was confident that he would put his best efforts into his defence. Every day until the trial, he was going to take himself to Sirius Black's place again, and again do his best to become accustomed to the music that made his whole body revolt.

He had to face Luna as well. What would she say? It might have taken Luna's words to make him wake up to himself, but Harry had already been thinking of an early wedding before he had left on this last week's work.

Luna surprised him, she casually said that of course he had killed the kidnappers - he was Harry Potter, wasn't he? How could he have done anything else? She thought he was wrong planning to stand trial though, she thought that they should both simply disappear.

But Harry admitted something he had never even told Ginny, just how lonely he had become when he had been forced to flee England when he had left school. He said that he could not put Luna through that. If there was the slightest chance of being let off, he wanted to take it. Draco said there was a chance. And there was James, still only fourteen, and Margaret was already pregnant. If he had to flee, he would never see his grandchild.

Harry had seen Draco again, and knew that the evidence against him would be shown first, and then Draco would have his say. He, himself, would not be required to say anything.

Then the film of his captivity would be shown, a prospect that Harry thought of with dread. Someone would sum up the evidence against him, and then Draco would speak again, and Draco told Harry that he would lay it on at this point, he was not to interrupt, even if he found it embarrassing, as this was the crucial moment, this was when he hoped to swing the vote, and get Harry off. Harry was to stay silent the whole time, not interrupt, not say a thing.

Trust me, said Draco. Leave it to me. Harry crossed his fingers and left it to Draco Malfoy.

It was still more probable than not that he would be convicted and sentenced to a sizable prison term. He expected to be going into exile, and his eyes were moist when he packed a small backpack and placed his wand carefully among muggle clothing. He put the same charm on it that his little kitbag had. It would be ignored wherever left, never stolen.

His passport was in the bag, too, although he had conjured an identical one that was in a pocket. There was a lot of money, in several different muggle currencies. Then he hid the backpack in a thick grove of trees on his property. Kingsley, since he had been picked up at the muggle hospital, could easily find his hidden home, if he hadn't already, and already knew about Sirius Black's place. But it should be easy to apparate to his backpack, pick it up, and leave the country. It would break his heart, but he would leave Luna, too. Maybe he over-estimated the sadness of leaving home and friends, but Luna was not offered the choice, Harry thought that he would not be selfish enough to ask such a sacrifice of her.

***chapter end***


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. _.

_Chapter 18:_

It was the 9th of June, the day of the trial. Harry apparated straight into Kingsley's office as had been agreed, and three aurors arrived a couple of minutes later. They were aurors whom Harry only knew slightly, a woman and two men. Kingsley was still treating Harry with considerable courtesy, and introduced him to Anna, Dean and Byron.

But then there was an awkward moment. Kingsley asked Harry for his wand. Harry, without any comment, handed Kingsley a wand, conjured that morning for the occasion. Kingsley looked at it suspiciously, but only said that Charles Mason would be handling the prosecution. Draco had already told him that, Draco seemed to know everything.

"Follow Anna," Kingsley told Harry, "Dean and Byron will be behind."

Harry was looking cold, expressionless.

Kingsley said, "Harry, I'm sorry."

Harry just nodded. He couldn't afford to let himself show anything today. It hurt too much. He refused to hang his head. His face still showed nothing of his thoughts as he was led, apparently a prisoner, into the courtroom. The courtroom looked different. Three large screens were in different positions around the room. The video evidence was going to be very clear to everyone in the large room. Anna led him past the tiered seating where his friends and colleagues were now to sit in judgement over him.

The large chair was in the middle of the floor, magical chains dangling from both arms, quietly clinking. Harry glanced at the chains, and they lay quite still. Harry Potter was not going to be chained.

Madam Amelia Bones, Minister for Magic, sat at the head table, feeling desperately sorry for the man who sat impassive, showing no sign of either trepidation or guilt. The wand he had given to Kingsley lay in front of her.

Charles Mason stood, opening the proceedings. "Mr. Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, is charged with the unlawful killing of Mr. Robin Griffin, and of Mr. Andrew Smith-Burton, the Sixth. There is solid evidence for the killings. Muggle film was taken, unknown to him at the time. This film is to be shown on the screens around."

One of the screens was almost in front of Harry, and his eyes briefly flicked to it as the first scene was shown. But it was the same as he had already seen. There were to be no surprises.

Considering it was unfamiliar muggle technology, the picture and the sound were clear, and the technician seemed to be having no trouble with the presentation. The large screens showed every detail, even something of the action on the small TV screen the men were watching could be seen.

There was a murmur from the large gathering as Harry and a shadowy figure were seen appearing, and rendering the men helpless.

_'I knew you'd come. You couldn't help but find me, no matter what!'_ and, _'It was so wonderful, having you at my mercy.'_

Several minutes went by, and there was a murmur of confusion from the audience at Ron's sudden laugh of triumph.

It was unclear to the audience exactly what was going on for a time, and no comment was made. But then a distraught Robin Griffin was shown displaying his almost non-existent penis, and the murmur was of horror. And then there was Harry's quiet voice, clearly heard in the large courtroom, betraying his total control. _'Be calm. Believe that your penis has been restored.' _

Smith-Burton had said, _'It was the most incredible thing when I finally had you!'_ and Harry had answered, _'You do realise that you're going to die for it!' _And it was established that the killings were pre-meditated.

The sound of the video within the video was muffled, but Harry braced himself - this was where the conditioning torture started. He managed to stay apparently unmoved as the rather muffled sound of the 1812 Overture started. But it was very clear on the large screen that he had reacted to something that he had been watching. The sound of him being suddenly violently ill was heard, and then Harry's face was seen clearly, pale and sweaty. Smith-Burton's face could be seen, too, betraying his lust.

And then there some words of Harry's again, totally incriminating. _'You may not like this - and I won't tolerate interference,'_ he had said to Ron, and then there was the chilling death of Griff. No wand, no visible spell. Just Harry's cold look and a sudden death. The audience was looking at Harry in horror, and Harry gave up hope. Why did he bother with this humiliation? He had killed, and they condemned him for it.

His face still showed only an icy composure, but he was thinking longingly of an instant disapparation and flight. And this was only the beginning! He rather felt that being shown as a ruthless killer was better than being shown as the helpless victim of rape and torture, which he knew was to be next. Anna, Dean and Byron were ranged beside and behind him. But they couldn't stop him disapparating if he chose. He knew how to ignore anti-disapparation spells, although he was the only one in the world who could.

Smith-Burton was killed then, and the way that Harry had let him have his fantasy so that he died happy, only increased the horror of the audience, those members of the Wizemgamot, whom he had laughed and joked with, and who now looked at him as if he was a monster.

As Draco had feared, the casual and callous disposal of the bodies was met with more murmurs of horror.

He was seen finding his wand, and there was an odd, furtive glance at his companion as he apparently vanished something else found in a drawer. His face was clearly seen several times more, although Ron's was consistently obscured.

There was not much else, just the vanishing of all evidence that Smith-Burton had ever been interested in Harry Potter.

The film, in real time, had lasted only about forty minutes, but it had been emotionally gruelling, and not just for Harry. Madam Bones called a break, and Harry was led out past the wizards and witches of the High Court. His face was icy, and some of the observers shivered as he passed by.

The little room where they led him was right next to the courtroom, and Harry guessed that its purpose was just this, to house prisoners temporarily when there was a pause in a trial. There was a table and chairs, and more chairs around the walls. There was a bathroom that led off, and Harry washed his face, needing the feel of cold water.

He then returned to the other room and leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, still displaying no emotion. Even his escort were looking at him in horror. He wondered if it had been a more normal murder with fighting, shouting and blood, would they be less horrified? But Draco had seen the incriminating video, probably several times, and he had told him there was hope.

At that moment, Draco was allowed in, betraying the fact that yet more aurors guarded outside the room. Harry wondered for the first time if they were seriously thinking of trying to keep him prisoner. They were only doing their job, he didn't want to hurt anyone, and Anna was a woman!

Draco had only come to tell him for goodness sake, don't interrupt, let him do everything.

Harry just nodded. Draco looked at the remote expression, and crossed his fingers.

Harry was led back to his chair in the middle of the courtroom. The impassive figure in his black cape was the focus of all eyes. There was a scar down his cheek. It appeared more prominent than usual, and they thought it made him look even more dangerous, although it was only a scar from when he had fallen from a horse, long ago.

There was a small audience allowed, sat back a little from the great wizards and witches of the Wizemgamot. Harry was using all his efforts to maintain his icy self-control, and hadn't noticed some of his friends and family were present, following every word. He had firmly told them not to come, but only Luna had obeyed. They still hoped for the best. But how could he get out of this? He had cold-bloodedly killed two men, and then callously vanished their bodies in a fashion totally inimical to the wizarding world.

Draco Malfoy took the floor. His height and air of authority made him an impressive figure. He was not yet ready to give his full power to his presentation, and only gave the facts. With the help of magic, his voice carried to the furthest reaches of the room.

"Harry Potter was kept prisoner for twenty days. In that time he was tortured, beaten and raped," and he quoted from a medical report that spoke of evidence of an anal contusion, a pathology report that told of semen and blood, and a report of the clothing that he had been wearing, urine and smears of faeces, and old bloodstains. There was the conclusion that he had probably been wearing the same unwashed clothing for weeks.

Harry hadn't known of these reports. His hands were apparently casually resting on the arms of his chair, but Anna saw his knuckles whiten.

"Mr. Potter did not allow any examination by his healer until over two weeks later," and then he launched into the report of broken bones, not leaving anything out - even the broken ribs were detailed one by one. It seemed to go on forever, and for the first time there was a murmur of sympathy in the room.

Harry didn't hear it. He just stared into the distance, all his efforts put into the endeavour to appear as if he felt nothing.

"It appears that Mr. Potter's abduction and his subsequent treatment may have two motives. Although one was the sexual satisfaction of Smith-Burton and Griffin, now deceased, there was also another. Someone wanted to see Harry Potter's influence and reputation destroyed, and this accounts for the notorious pornographic video that a few of you might have seen."

Almost all the men present, and some of the women, had seen that video.

"Any who have seen it, of course, would have realised that a lot of the scenes were acting."

Unintelligent people seldom served on the Wizemgamot, and there was no-one present who had not realised that a large part of that video had been acting, although a surprising proportion of the wizard population outside had never given it a thought.

"A version of that video even made it into the muggle world, and Harry Potter's muggle cousin, Mr. Dudley Dursley, regards Mr. Potter as a disgrace to the family."

Harry could listen to this comment with relative indifference. There had been a time when his cousin and his uncle and aunt had been his only living relatives, but now he had his own family. If he never saw Dudley again, it didn't really matter.

"We have a very good picture of what happened during Harry Potter's time in captivity, as his captors made a film detailing those events. There are disturbing and explicit scenes of rape and torture, but you, who hold Mr. Potter's fate in your hands, should know all the facts."

This was what Harry had been dreading, and his knuckles whitened again as the film opened with the very clear identification scenes, and then the declaration of intention. _"I am going to have his body, but if things go the way I want, he will soon be enjoying the act as much as I do."_

There was that horrible moment when Griff had run his tongue down his penis, and then there was the bloodletting scene. Many of them had seen all this before, on the pornographic video.

Harry's resistance to taking potions was seen now, and again there were sympathetic murmurs as Harry desperately fought his captors, trying to clear his head, and finally collapsing again.

Day two, and attempts to use torture to induce Harry to take the potion were shown. Some of those present were beginning to show signs of distress, but Harry still stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge any feeling whatsoever.

Day four, and a short speech, culminating in the fervent voice, _'I can't wait to have him.'_

The next part was of the attempted rape, that ended in the sudden maiming of Griff. In context, the horror of Harry's act appeared to have been lost. The camera had lingered on the abruptly shortened penis, but then returned to show the face of Harry Potter, still apparently totally unconscious, unmoving, eyes closed, helpless.

There were loud exclamations, as members of the Wizemgamot queried each other. How could it have happened? The noise of the audience became quite loud for a few minutes. Harry, himself, couldn't understand how he had done such a thing while unconscious, and still sought another explanation.

But it was no doubt that it was he who had been punished for it. Quiet scenes of an unmoving body on the floor, and for the first time, Draco made a comment. "Harry Potter had nearly all the major bones of his body broken."

Day seven, and the prisoner lying on the floor opened his eyes, and vanished, disapparated. He had escaped. But then a crumpled figure was discovered lying on some grass, and there was a sigh from the audience who had now become wholly caught up in the saga.

Day nine, and Hermione Granger was not the only member of the audience sobbing as Harry lay unconscious, but with tears that ran down his face.

Gentle fingers had touched the wet face, _'Tears, Harry?'_ A moment's beginning awareness was shown before a stun spell was used to cut it short.

Harry battled to keep a tight grip on his own self control. He was oblivious to the sounds of distress from members of the Wizemgamot who were sitting in judgement over him. To the eyes that tried to probe his feelings, he showed nothing. He just stared into space, his face stony.

_ 'Harry is beginning to react to my voice, my touch, differently to that of the others. Maybe he knows that I love him. I still want him - maybe soon, I'll try again. My poor damaged friend won't come near him. Harry is very weak, half starved, also dehydrated, as he often refuses even water. He is near death, but I have decided that I want him to live, at least for a while longer. There are to be no more attempts to make him take Potions. To keep him alive, we have to persuade him to take food and water. Therefore a female voice has been recorded and I have some new information that may help. One thing that I have confirmed is that he has the ability to ignore anti-disapparation charms. We have to keep him more deeply unconscious, but he may be developing a tolerance to the muggle tranquilliser. The dose has already been increased significantly, and he still manages somehow to rouse himself at my voice.' _

Draco Malfoy liked this next bit. If this didn't touch souls, nothing would. Harry was gently fed some ice-cream, and then his head turned, blindly searching, and he breathed in a yearning tone_, 'Ginny!'_

Some of the wizards coughed, trying to hide their emotion, others sniffled, and many of the women were frankly sobbing.

It seemed that only Harry, of all of those present, remained unaffected, but he was pale, tense, as the aurors whose duty it was to stay close, could see.

_'Day fifteen. A wizard will be standing by to stun him in case he starts to wake. I just want to touch his body, and feel. He is still too dangerous to make love the way I so much want!'_ Caressing hands were shown that were suddenly withdrawn with a yelp of pain.

_ 'Day sixteen. He burned my hands yesterday. So now I'm going to get my pleasure from him in a different way. And it's an interesting experiment. How much can he hear, feel? I'm going to get him conditioned so that he reacts to a particular piece of music as though he were being tortured.' _

Draco Malfoy had given his orders, and the technician raised the volume. Harry had been preparing for this, and to Draco's disappointment, he only flinched slightly, and his stony face became rather more pale. There were moans and cries from the audience now, and some wizards and even more witches left the room. A few were led out sobbing. Harry didn't notice. It was taking all the will power he had to appear unmoved. Each of those bursts of loud music sent a powerful jolt through his whole system.

_'It works! He obviously felt the pain, even though this time it was only the music. He was returning to consciousness, though, and it appears it might be too dangerous to do it again. But we'll use the torture with the music again tomorrow, just to fix it permanently in his mind. If he survives this imprisonment, it might make a good party trick! Play the music, and watch Harry Potter react!' _

But the eyes of only one wizard turned speculatively to Harry at the mention of a possible party trick.

_'Day twenty,'_ and the final pictures of sodomy were shown, the leg broken as a tactic to ensure that he might not punish the rapist.

Harry still did not betray any sign of emotion, although his knuckles were white in the effort to maintain his inhuman control, and his spirit quailed at the words, and the totally explicit pictures. _'This is how Harry Potter will be returned to his friends. Smears of semen around his anus - and look, how perfect! There is blood! He has the marks of his virginity still on him!' _

And finally there were pictures taken of him on the podium in the park. The Cruciatus curse again, and Harry Potter fought back, and on the prompting of a friend, disapparated.

The video ceased. There was dead silence.

Draco left the silence to continue for a few minutes, and then spoke quietly, although his voice was heard by everyone in the room. "This is unprecedented! Harry Potter was actually under the Cruciatus curse, and he lifted his head and he defeated the wizard who was torturing him. Can you imagine the strength of character that took?"

Silence again, except for a few muffled sobs. The strained voice of Madam Bones spoke, "One hour recess."

Anna tapped Harry on the shoulder as he was slow to react to her voice. "This way," she said, and her voice, too, was a touch strained and unnatural.

But Harry only reacted mechanically, following her back to the small room, where a lunch was laid. Harry ignored it, just leaning against the wall again, and waiting. Other aurors appeared, giving the first three a break.

Harry was heavily guarded, and he wondered again just how much of a prisoner he was. But Kingsley had given orders. He was to be treated with extreme tact. The aurors were told that they would not be able to keep him by force, that they were merely to try not to provoke an escape before the trial was concluded. The heavy guard was mostly for show, although out of habit, the aurors still treated him as a normal prisoner, and watched him constantly, alert for any move.

"You should have some lunch, Mr. Potter. You need your strength," said Anna.

But Harry only briefly shook his head. He couldn't eat now.

The prisoner was led back into the court room, his head still held proud, his face impassive. The benches were full again, it was time for the summing up, and those distressed witches and wizards who had left the court had felt it their duty to return, no matter how hard the duty was on this day.

Charles Mason took the floor. "I have the highest respect for Mr. Potter, who has been a valuable member of wizardry. In particular, the work of spell-breaking that he does is of tremendous value. He is irreplaceable. And yet the law is clear. It is undeniable that Mr. Potter killed two wizards. This was not a lawful act. He has to be convicted of the unlawful killings of Mr. Griffin and Mr. Smith-Burton. No other verdict is possible."

Harry agreed with the summing up. There was no other verdict possible. So what was he doing still here?

Draco Malfoy strode to the middle of the floor where Mason had stood. "Let us review a few items," he said softly. "He sits there as if he does not feel."

And he turned quite slowly and deliberately to Harry, looking at him, and everyone else looked at Harry too. And at the words, Draco's assistant suddenly let loose a blast of sound that Harry wasn't expecting, and this time he leapt to his feet with a cry and staggered, as the crashing chords of Tchaikovski echoed though the room.

Anna, on his left, steadied him with a hand on his upper arm, but Byron reacted by drawing his wand, before a nudge from Dean had him put it away again.

Draco would have preferred it if Harry had gone totally to pieces, but Harry made a superhuman effort. He stood proudly erect, stared icily into the distance, and resumed his seat.

The members of the Wizemgamot could see that he was more pale than ever, but couldn't see that he trembled.

Draco let the music continue until it appeared that he could provoke no further reaction from Harry.

"They tortured him again and again to the sound of that music. Some might say that he was kept unconscious and couldn't feel it. But his body felt it. The Cruciatus curse is the most painful thing that can be done to a human being. And even though he has played that music again and again trying to become accustomed to it, his body still reacts as if the torture were to start over."

A pause, as Draco let his audience remember those repeated scenes of torture.

"And then, of course, he was held for Smith-Burton's pleasure. He was to be raped. And somehow, incredibly, he defended himself. Griffin was maimed, while Harry Potter was apparently totally unconscious. I don't understand it, neither does he. But they took a terrible revenge." And from memory, Draco started to recite the list of bones broken.

"It goes on and on. All the major bones of his body were broken, and he was left apparently totally unattended, for days, until they accidentally allowed him to wake sufficiently to disapparate. How often have we all been told that we should never apparate while unfit? Harry Potter was terribly injured, and managed only to flee just outside the house where he was kept. And his kidnappers were still so frightened of him that they stunned him from a distance before they even knew if he was still alive."

Draco paused again. He had been speaking with more and more power, and every eye was on him. Only Harry looked at nothing.

"Do you remember how he was picked up? Did you see how his arms and his legs bent where there were no joints? Both arms and both legs were broken, and in several places. Plus ribs, plus collar bones. What sort of beating did that?"

Harry was numb. Draco had said he was going to lay it on, and he was. Harry let the words flow past him. It was taking all his courage and strength of will to keep control of himself. The Wizemgamot wondered if he was quite human - he just sat, staring at nothing, cold, expressionless. There had been only that one moment of honesty when Draco had suddenly hit him with the music again. Enough to show that he was indeed human, and could feel.

"What else?" Draco said, softly again. "Oh, yes, next came those scenes when they were trying to restore his strength sufficient so that they could have more of their little fun and games! Many of us know that Harry lost his wife four years ago. And many of us remember how envious we were of their happiness together. It was only the second word he spoke in this whole saga - they were finally managing to persuade him to take some food, and do you remember how he searched for her? He called on his dead wife, '_Ginny!'_ he said," and Draco's voice became quiet. "He called for his Ginny."

The name dropped into silence, as Draco paused again. He thought that was a scene that should be milked for all it was worth. The women in particular were always suckers for a tragic love story. Draco had almost forgotten how his own eyes had become wet at his first viewing.

Draco could easily have been stopped long since. All of this was totally irrelevant to the question of whether or not Harry Potter had killed unlawfully. But no-one objected. Amelia Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, even Charlie Mason, wanted Harry to somehow be unpunished. He had gone through so much already.

"And finally he was raped. Do you have any idea of how it feels to a proud man, knowing that he has been used like that? We view rape of a wizard as a more terrible crime than murder. The privacy of his body was violated. And not only did they do that to him, they made certain that his whole world knew. He has faced us all, this past year, as more and more of us learned what had been done to him. He didn't choose to have a pornographic film made using him. He certainly didn't choose to become a gay icon! I have known Harry Potter for most of my life. We were in the same year at school. He was a hero then, he was the one who defeated the most famous Dark Wizard of them all, Lord Voldemort. But never have I admired him as much as I have this past year. He refused to hang his head. He refused to hide. He refused to run away. His own son won't talk to him for shame. But Harry Potter walks proud, and we should be proud to have him among us."

The last words rang out in the court room. Draco Malfoy had just put on the performance of his life. He stood stock still then, allowing what he had said to be assimilated. He had brought in Lord Voldemort quite deliberately. Many members of the Wizemgamot were quite old, and remembered the terror of those days. The audience was silent. They were ready to be told what to do, and Draco Malfoy did it. Without the slightest attempt to give any logical reason, he put as much force and power into his voice as he could, and said. "I call on the Wizemgamot to pronounce Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, not guilty."

He didn't even remind them what Harry was not guilty of, in case they remembered that he most certainly was guilty.

Madam Bones thought she saw some hope for Harry. Without giving the Wizemgamot time to reflect logically, she seized the moment, and called a vote.

Draco Malfoy nearly won. His pure emotional appeal had nearly half of the Wizemgamot ignoring the facts, and voting that Harry Potter was not guilty. It was so close that a second count was made.

The votes were counted, the re-check had been made, and the secretary rose, and made the measured announcement. - "Mr. Harry Potter is pronounced guilty of unlawfully killing Mr. Andrew Smith-Burton, the Sixth, and Mr. Robin Griffin, otherwise known as Griff."

Harry just stared into the distance. No-one was even quite sure whether he was taking any notice of the proceedings any more. The aurors close to him knew that he still shook. A gentle continuous trembling that belied the utter calm of his expression.

The trial was all but over. It only remained for sentence to be pronounced. Amelia Bones, Minister for Magic, had to pronounce sentence on someone she profoundly respected, and very much liked. She stood with dignity, and stated that Mr. Potter would be sentenced the following day.

The Wizemgamot filed out. Most of them avoided looking at Harry. A few friends waited in the chairs set aside for spectators.

Harry sat frozen, aside from that gentle shaking that held him. When the room was cleared, Anna tapped him on the shoulder, and they led him to the same room where he had waited before.

There was a tap on the door, and a young wizard with pimples said, "Afternoon tea, Professor Potter," and old habit was called up and Professor Potter mechanically said, "Thank you, Julius." He had taught Julius just the previous year. But Harry took no notice of the tempting food available, only leaning against the wall, very white, and still showing the slight trembling that went on and on.

Draco Malfoy came in and said briefly, "The sentencing is to be ten o'clock tomorrow morning. You have to make sure and attend. I'm still working for you. Wait for me, I'll come back." And he hurried off.

Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room. He looked at Harry's white face and the untouched food, told Dean and Anna to take guard outside, and asked Byron to fetch Healer Bagshott. It looked to him that Harry was in deep shock. He went to the table, poured Harry a sweet coffee, and touched him on the shoulder, guiding him to a chair at the table.

Harry raised the coffee to his lips, but his hand shook and the coffee spilt, and he put it down again. He'd had nothing to eat or drink since a scarcely touched breakfast that morning. And for the first time that day, his head bowed, over the coffee he didn't seem able to drink. Abruptly he rose from the table and hastened to the bathroom where he was violently ill.

Kingsley stared after him in deepest pity. He suspected that it wasn't the verdict that Harry was so upset by, he had to have expected that - it was the whole day of endless, unbearable humiliation. And that music, too, that had several times blasted through the courtroom. That last time, when Draco had played it again unexpectedly, was obviously a shock to Harry, but Kingsley thought it very clever. Draco had nearly won the case, and maybe if Harry had shown just a little more weakness, he might have done. There had been only two votes in it.

In the bathroom, Harry washed his face again, and he scooped some water from the tap, and drank. He wanted to go home to Luna, and it didn't seem that Kingsley was going to try and stun him for arrest, or bring in Dementors.

Healer Jodie Bagshott was still being searched for, but she had hidden herself away, bitterly crying for the great wizard she had looked after, and very much admired.

When Harry returned, Kingsley was helping himself to coffee, and had taken a roll from the plate. It was not that he wanted them, it had just occurred to him that Harry might suspect that the food or the coffee could have been drugged in order to render him helpless for arrest.

Harry returned to the room. He was still very pale, but the trembling seemed to have diminished.

He spoke, almost for the first time in that long day, "Draco said that I should come back for sentencing, but I can't remember what time he said."

"Don't go yet, Harry," said Kingsley. "I think he'll probably want to speak to you at more length," and at that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Kingsley opened it for Draco.

Harry was looking a touch more human, and the corner of his mouth rose a little. "You nearly won!" he said to Draco. "You almost convinced even me that I wasn't guilty!"

Draco said smoothly, "Never bother with the facts when there's a good sob story available!"

Harry laughed, but it was a short and bitter laugh, and his body still shook.

Draco glanced at Kingsley, who sat at the table, pretending he wasn't there. And for a very large and very black man, that was quite an achievement. But Draco chose not to ask for privacy with his client, a request that was unlikely to be granted in any case, and said instead, "Don't give up. There's still the sentencing, and you must be there."

"What time?"

"Ten o'clock tomorrow morning - I told you before."

Harry nodded, "So you did," and added, "Thanks, Draco."

Harry stood, and Kingsley said urgently, "You're in no condition to apparate. Let us look after you."

But Harry only gave him the same wry look that he'd given Draco, "In Azkaban?"

"At least wait until Jodie has seen you."

"I'm a convicted criminal, Kingsley, why should the Ministry care about my health now?"

Kingsley gave up. "Come to my office 9.30 in the morning, then. I agree with Draco, you might as well see it through."

Harry silently disapparated, from a room where that was supposed to be not possible, but that ability of Harry's was known to the world now, as was his ability to work magic without a wand.

Healer Bagshott arrived then, her eyes rather bloodshot, and poor Kingsley was soundly abused again for letting Harry apparate when he was obviously unfit.

Harry went to Luna, where she held him, felt the incessant trembling that racked his body, and finally took him to bed. Even then, it was hours before he remembered the primary purpose of a bed, and only after they made love did his emotional exhaustion take over, and he slept.

Luna thought that he was going to leave her, she wanted to keep something of him, and a child was conceived that night.

In the morning, she hid the Daily Prophet from him. The quote had been too delicious for the reporters to ignore, '_the marks of his virginity still on him!'_ and an old photograph was brought out again, Harry Potter, filthy and dishevelled, hanging in the arms of his captors.

***chapter end***


	19. Chapter 19

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 19:_

9.30am, and again Kingsley Shacklebolt was wondering if Harry was going to turn up. Did Harry trust him sufficiently? He could have had Dementors waiting for him, to keep him helpless until he was taken to Azkaban. He didn't though. He did not conceive it as his duty to lock away a good man.

But Harry was suddenly there, in the corner, looking a bit thin, as he often did, but perfectly composed.

Kingsley didn't know what was to happen, as while Draco Malfoy had spent some time with the Minister the previous day, Amelia hadn't told anyone what she had decided. He talked casually and gently to Harry for a little, wanting to keep him calm before his ordeal resumed.

"Your wand doesn't work very well," he said at one point, "I tried it, and it just didn't seem to have any magic at all."

But Harry only said, "Well, we all know that a wand works best for its owner. Give it back, if you like, and I'll show you."

So Kingsley handed over the useless piece of wood, and Harry used it to conjure an armchair for himself. He always detested the uncomfortable Ministry chairs. Kingsley laughed, but Anna, Dean and Byron appeared then, and Harry stood, used the piece of wood to vanish the armchair before handing it back to Kingsley, and allowed himself to be led off for the judgement of the court.

Harry was looking as icy calm as he had done the previous day, as he was led past the most respected witches and wizards of his world, the members of the Wizemgamot. Yesterday, he had been a member himself of the Wizemgamot, today he was a convicted criminal, only waiting to hear his punishment. He would not hang his head. Unlawful killing or not, he would have done the same thing again - only he would definitely have checked first for video cameras!

Proceedings would be short today. Madam Bones regarded him as he sat with an apparent perfect calm in the chair of judgement. The chains on it had not made a sound since the previous morning, and she wondered if they would ever work again.

The secretary rose, and gave the formal preliminary. "Mr. Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, has been convicted of the unlawful killings of Mr. Andrew Smith-Burton, the Sixth, and of Mr. Robin Griffin also known as Griff. Sentence is to be pronounced."

Amelia Bones rose to her feet. "The Court has taken into consideration all mitigating circumstances. But the law is clear. Mr. Potter killed twice, and the killings were unlawful. He is sentenced to three years imprisonment in Azkaban."

There was a sudden rustle of noise as the Wizemgamot commented to each other. It was a light sentence for the crime, but there were very few there who wanted to see any sentence for the crime.

Harry just stared at nothing as he had the previous day, wearing the same impassive expression. He thought it would be only polite to wait until the court cleared before he disapparated, unless of course, they tried to take him earlier.

Madam Bones raised a hand. "I have not finished."

Silence fell again.

"Harry Potter is sentenced to three years imprisonment in Azkaban, but the sentence is to be suspended." A suspended sentence was sometimes used in muggle justice, but never in wizardry - until Draco Malfoy convinced Amelia Bones that it was the obvious solution in this case. But she had to explain to the Wizemgamot, and to Harry.

"A suspended sentence means that the sentence is not immediately carried out, but that the convicted criminal is put under Probation. If there are any further transgressions while the criminal is under the term of his Probation, the original sentence is put into effect straight away, plus any further penalty for the new transgression. If there are no further transgressions in that period, the sentence is lapsed. The period of Probation for Mr. Potter is to be ten years."

There was silence as the Wizemgamot took it in. A suspended sentence - it meant that Harry was not to be punished, and a swell of cheers started, until there was a roar. Throughout the trial, Harry had not made any acknowledgment of the audience, but now it had become very clear that he had an enormous support among them. Whether or not they had voted him guilty, no-one wanted him punished.

He was having trouble believing it, and spoke to Anna ranged at his side, "Anna? I don't understand."

And even Anna, who scarcely knew him, was delighted. "It's all right ! You won't be going to prison. Not unless you do something else!"

The roar of sound still echoed through the large room, as cheering continued, but Harry was still not convinced, "I won't be going to prison?"

And suddenly Kingsley was there, too. _"No_, Harry, you won't be going to prison." He took the hand of the dazed man, and wrung it in a sincere expression of his delight. "So don't take off for the other side of the world, all right? We need you here."

Harry wanted to cry. It was as hard to withstand the relief as it had been to withstand scenes of torture and rape. But he took a grip on himself, and only a starting, tentative smile appeared, the hysterical tears of relief buried deep, and for the first time, his gaze ranged over the crowds of supporters, including the imposing desk, where Madam Bones waited patiently for the uproar to die down.

The room slowly quieted at the banging of a gavel from the secretary. "Please," he said, "The dignity of the court requires silence. There is more to be said."

It was almost funny to see how quickly the cool veneer reappeared on Harry's face. He was still full of mistrust. More could not be good.

Madam Bones spoke with dignity, directly to the prisoner. "Mr. Potter, please stand."

Harry stood.

"Mr. Potter, even though you will shortly be free to leave, you are now a convicted criminal, on Probation. If you break any laws at all while the period of your Probation lasts, your sentence of three years is likely to be immediately imposed. Further, as a convicted criminal, you are hereby dismissed from your position on the Wizemgamot, and your right to vote has ended."

The secretary reverently picked up the conjured pretend wand that lay in front of the Minister for Magic, and tenderly conveyed it back to Harry. For the rest of his life, he would boast that he once held the wand of Harry Potter. Harry was still standing, and he nodded his thanks as he took the piece of wood and put it into his wand pocket. Kingsley was still beside him, quietly amused at the rapt gaze of the young secretary.

"Mr. Potter, you may resume your seat while the court is cleared."

Harry glanced reluctantly at the Chair of Judgement, but obediently sat as witches and wizards filed out, laughing and chattering. Some waved to him, and he noticed for the first time that many of his friends were there, Hermione and Ron, Fred and George, and even Nick Bagshott, who had given him the first copy of the pornographic video, and who was cousin to Jodie, the Ministry Healer. Adam and the girls were there, too. The secretary was talking to them, he noticed.

But his view was interrupted by others moving past them, and then he found himself jumping nervously as he was suddenly clapped on the shoulder by Jebedee, who had watched over him so often, whether he wanted it or not, and Mark and Eli and Zack were there, too. Bedwin was the demonstrative one, and Harry was suddenly pulled to his feet, and hugged.

Harry, with difficulty, managed to stay dry-eyed. They were all about him, hugging and laughing, until there was a "Hmm Hmm," and they stood back respectfully for Madam Bones.

"Well, Harry?" she said.

Harry was shaking again, he didn't quite know why. But he knew that he owed Amelia an enormous debt. Unfortunately, he didn't seem able to speak right now.

Amelia's eyes glinted with tears, and she just touched a hand to his shoulder as he stood bewildered, and said, "No more casual executions, all right?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, but his mind still chugged. He had never executed anybody _casually,_ it was always serious and well deserved.

The last of the Wizemgamot had left the room, and Harry's friends had also been hunted out, but Adam, Margaret and Victoria were finally given the nod by the secretary. The aurors who were his friends stepped back, and he was suddenly surrounded by his children.

Only James was absent, still at Hogwarts, on Detention for the seventh day running, for fighting. Harry was not the only one who had suffered this past year.

Meg and Vicky took an arm each, feeling him still trembling, and led him away from the court room toward the atrium. Adam was close behind. Harry needed the guidance - he was dazed, it was difficult to comprehend the sudden change in his outlook.

Hermione had gone to fetch Luna, wanting Luna waiting for him there. There was a constant buzz of calls and congratulations from Ministry employees as they led him down the corridors of the Ministry of Magic.

Even Charlie Mason came to him, and shook his hand. Harry managed to smile back, his reactions still mechanical. More people were shaking his hand. Whether or not he had killed, he had their whole hearted support.

There were a few who stood back, eyes narrowed. After all that had been done, Harry Potter was still in his world, and might still be an influence.

Percival Weasley, Ron's brother, was a middle ranking staff member in one of the lesser Ministry departments. While still at school, he had formed the ambition of becoming Minister for Magic, but various circumstances led him to be shunted aside, and it looked now as if that ambition would never be fulfilled. He blamed Harry Potter, and regarded him with some disdain - an unpunished murderer. But Percy Weasley had never been an active enemy.

Ron waited for him in the Atrium, with Meg and Vicki's husbands, also Nick Bagshott, and even Hagrid, who appeared to have been crying, or possibly drinking, as he was supported on each side by Fred and George Weasley.

Harry still shook, and still appeared dazed, but when reporters and photographers elbowed their way forward, his daughters felt him take a shuddering breath, and his shaking finally ceased. His forehead scar looked suddenly more pronounced than usual, as if it were a fight that he was bracing himself for.

"Mr. Potter, how do you feel now?" "Mr. Potter, what is your next move?" "Mr. Potter, do you consider your sentence fair?"

Mr. Potter looked cool and composed, and answered in a calm voice that he was grateful for the way he had been treated by the Ministry, and by the court, and that he was unsure of his next move. And he stood with some dignity, as eager photographers took his picture.

Luna appeared with Hermione, and he took the few steps to Luna's side, and murmured in her ear, to a smiling assent from Luna. He held her firmly around the waist, as he turned to his family, thanking them for their unfailing support. He dropped his arm, said, "Now?" to Luna, and they both disapparated, Harry in his usual silence, Luna with the crack that was the normal mark of a disapparation.

Three days later, letters arrived, stating that Harry and Luna were married, and were travelling. But they would be back in time to meet the Hogwarts express.

James studied his letter. His father had apparently not received his own request that he stay at Uncle Ron's for the Summer holidays. There was no contact address provided.

James had grown a lot taller this past year, but was whip thin and nervy. He saw slights to his father even in innocent comments, and had been in constant trouble for fighting. He had stubbornly refused suggestions that he go to a different school. There was quite a good one in America, Harry knew. It could not boast of over a thousand years of tradition, but that was not necessarily a bad thing.

Professor Bagshott was Ravenclaw's House Master, and understood James sufficiently that he was not expelled. James was an excellent duellist now, both muggle and wizard varieties - he'd had constant practice. This was in spite of a naturally peaceful and studious disposition.

It would take James many, many years to forgive his father for this past year, and he had seldom even met Luna, only once or twice when his mother had been still alive.

***chapter end***


	20. Chapter 20

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter, most characters and the magical world as depicted, belong to J. K. Rowling_.

_Chapter 20, Final Chapter:_

The Hogwarts Express steamed into King's Cross and James alighted, dragging his trunk. Harry waited for him. He knew now that James had wanted to avoid seeing him, and was unsure of how he would be greeted.

They faced each other, James holding off, looking cool, expressionless, and more like Harry than ever.

The confrontation was interrupted, as two of Harry's former girl students grabbed and hugged their Professor Potter, to the amusement of Bedwin and Mark, watching from nearby, and suddenly Harry was surrounded by students he had taught, addressing him as Professor Potter, and chatting to him about events at Hogwarts, never mentioning trials, killings, rape or kidnap.

He had always been a popular teacher, and they wanted him to know that they fully approved his actions. To most, it seemed only proper that a rapist should be killed by his victim. They all knew the details, as the trial had been very thoroughly reported in the paper. Their careful tact was not really necessary, as Harry had been thoroughly hardened now, and seldom even blushed when comments were made that would have had him cringing a year before.

Harry touched his wand to James' trunk which vanished, sent instantaneously to his home. Those surrounded him blinked. What had he done? Oddly, this obvious and practical piece of magic was not a common thing.

Harry was still awkward with James, but he had developed a very different relationship with his bodyguards after this past year, and he introduced James to Mark and Bedwin, who were watching out for him that day. He had so resented their presence in the past. Sometimes he still did, but those who surrounded him were decent men, and had become friends.

Mark and Bedwin were looking at young James, thin, and nearly as tall as his father. He was so like Harry, except for the absence of glasses, and they wondered if he had the enormous talent and power of his father. But while James was highly talented, Harry was still unique in his world.

James stayed a week with Harry, meeting Luna, of course, but treating her with reserve. After an awkward week, Harry let him have his way, and James went to his Uncle Ron's for a time. He had come armed with other invitations, too, and spent most of the holidays with other friends.

Harry had tried and failed to talk to him, but James could put on an air of icy reserve that defeated his father. Adam didn't even try, although Victoria made an attempt one day.

Harry lost James, as he had known he would the first time he saw the pornographic video that Nick Bagshott had given him. He had long since vanished the horrible thing.

But he had found Luna, and at the end of March, when Harry was fifty, and without the slightest trouble, a little girl was born, whom they called Beth.

_**xx**_

Madam Amelia Bones felt as if the trial of Harry Potter had added ten years to her age, and retired from her position as Minister for Magic. Her place was taken by John Daunt. John Daunt was a stickler for the rules, and was known to Harry. Harry thought that he would make a reasonable Minister. He had not tried to influence these elections - he didn't even have a vote any more. Once convicted of a crime, a wizard loses his vote for life.

He and Luna found that it was better to stay out of England as much as possible. There had been a renewed spate of death attempts, and he now bore another knife scar, although it had been treated quickly enough that it was scarcely visible.

But even more of a problem was his Probation. The slightest transgression might land him in Azkaban, and it seemed there were a lot of people bent on providing sufficient provocation that he would forget prudence, and hit out. One of his enemies had even bought a hotel just for the purpose, and again there was a Harry Potter room, and its patrons would turn up in their capes, their choice of costume indicating to the initiated which position they preferred.

Harry knew of it, and left it strictly alone, but the wizard who owned it found it so profitable that he kept it going anyway.

Occasionally he still did some spell-breaking in Europe, but he had already dealt with the accumulation of cases from the last decades, and there were only the new cases to worry about.

There were a few ancient cases buried away in institutions, both in Britain, and in the rest of Europe. They tended to be forgotten, and he seldom saw them.

Whenever he was in England, he did his spell-breaking stints with Hermione, that he had first started around thirty years before. The Ministry still insisted on their observers, although once John Daunt took over, he was less heavily protected. It took a while for him to realise that Daunt regarded him with some suspicion, and may not be as interested in keeping him alive as Amelia had been. Now that he was doing a lot less of the overseas work, he had become less valuable to them.

Being less valued did not trouble Harry in the slightest. For he was very, very happy married to Luna. Now, when he joined his team for a week in Europe, he vanished every night to be with her, no longer bothering to conceal his ability to apparate that distance, although no-one but Luna knew that he could just as easily apparate to the other side of the earth if he chose, only having to remember time differences.

The bodyguards found him a lot easier to look after, but they were a bit disappointed, too. He had been such fun when he had got himself into fights, and went from one woman to the next. Now there were no fights, and no other women, and he was only there at night on the occasions he exhausted himself with a cure, or an attempted cure. He liked home best these days, where Luna was, and there was baby Beth, too.

Beth was a very easy baby, round and placid and happy, apparently content to sit and chortle to herself for hours at a time. She didn't even walk until she was nearly two, and still didn't talk at three, but no-one could look into those laughing and knowing eyes and think her dull. Luna was totally unworried, and simply assured Harry that everyone was different.

His friends were amused to see that in one respect, this marriage was exactly the same as his last marriage had been. He did exactly what his wife told him. But Luna didn't have the stern common sense of Ginny, and the couple were regarded as rather eccentric.

She still had her newspaper, the _Quibbler,_ with an editor who did most of the collating and marketing. The intellectuals of their world regarded it as essential reading. Some of the articles were still distinctly odd, but there were also articles that contained enormous wisdom, and others that shone new light on mysterious phenomena that had baffled the learned witches and wizards of the age. Harry was now a regular contributor, as well as Luna, their writings the results of their research and investigations pursued in many different areas of the world. They spent a lot more time out of England than they did at home, placid Beth always with them.

Luna kept her own surname, as she had done in her three previous short-lived marriages. One of those marriages had lasted just three weeks. But with Harry, she had found what she needed in a partner, and Harry found enjoyment in her oddities, and very often he found truth and sense in her apparently outlandish notions. Her unusual views came from her unusual intelligence, and from something else that she shared with Harry. She too, had a latent telepathic talent, the quality that had made her previous husbands first uneasy, and then produced in them an urgent desire to flee. The closeness between them brought out that talent. More and more, they didn't need words, as their awareness of each other rendered verbal speech almost unnecessary. An obscure reference was always immediately understood, as the meaning came automatically with the scant words.

And when they made love, their intimacy was enhanced by the sense they had of each other. It was a very special thing.

_**xx**_

Life went on in other ways, Margaret, married to Sean Abercrombie, had her baby, then another, and was pregnant again. Victoria, married to Christopher Parker, several years older than herself, didn't seem interested in having children.

He still saw his niece, Gemme, although he no longer went to see Dudley. It just didn't seem worth the effort of trying to gain his forgiveness for his unconscious participation in a pornographic video.

Arthur Weasley died, and Molly was getting very old now. She loved looking after Harry's daughter, Beth. Beth was so easy, and such a happy toddler, even if she didn't talk. She refused to look after Margaret's children, though - they were a handful!

Kingsley Shacklebolt was beginning to think of retirement, and when he met Harry one day at a party, took him aside. He wanted Harry to know that no-one but himself in the Ministry knew where his home was, or that Harry had that other potential retreat, Sirius Black's old house. He had never made any records, and the whereabouts of Harry's hidden home was still protected from the Ministry.

Kingsley was beginning to think that Harry had been right when he had been so wary of the Ministry for most of his life, although he seemed to have dropped his suspicion in the last few years. But there had been hints, and whispers. Kingsley thought it was possible that Harry Potter might one day be again set against the Ministry of Magic.

_**xx**_

Harry and Luna's daughter, Beth, was nearly four. Margaret's first daughter, Harry's grand-daughter, was very little older, a redhead like her mother. The children were playing, not exactly together, but in the same room. Blonde Beth was fat, placid, and had a happy disposition. She still didn't talk much, although it was not for lack of ability. Mary was an active child, who rarely sat still.

Beth was playing with a fluffy toy orangutan. Mary grabbed it from her and ran off. A rare frown crossed the face of placid Beth. Mary held the toy, and was looking at her challengingly, ready to run. But round Beth didn't like running, and she hadn't finished playing with her toy. She held up her hand, and the toy flew straight from Mary's hand, back into her own. Mary stared at her, bellowed, and ran to her mother.

_The End._


End file.
